Back in the Hole
by TeacherTam
Summary: Ryan's still new to the O.C., preChristmukkah. His past comes back. Violence, language, sexual abuse. My first fanfic.
1. Terror Returns

Disclaimer:Although I truly wish that I did, I own nothing related to the O.C. So far, I don't even own any original characters. Maybe I will eventually, but so far, it all belongs to Fox. Sigh.

Back in the Hole

Chapter One

Terror Returns

Ryan sighed heavily, as he cleared the dishes off of his last table. It had been a long day at the Crab Shack, and his muscles were aching from the day's manual labor. As he had been all day, he reminded himself, "Just think of the money. It's worth anything." It wasn't that he was suffering in poverty; he just wanted to be able to pay his own way. He had only been with the Cohens' for a few months, but they had already spent so much money on him! They never acted like he was a burden, but Ryan felt like one, anyway. He really didn't like taking charity from people; it made him feel like he owed them. When you owe somebody, they have power over you, and that is a dangerous position to be in. Not that the Cohens seemed the type to hold these kinds of things against you, but you never knew. Better safe than sorry. 

"See ya, guys," Ryan called to the few remaining employees, as he tossed his apron onto the counter, and headed out the back door. As the door slowly swung shut behind him, he took a moment to revel in the fresh night air. It was always uncomfortably warm in the Crab Shack, for the employees. The thermostat was set to a comfortable level for the "guests" who sat and let others serve them. It was unimportant, apparently, that the hard-working employees suffered to make the customers happy. "Oh, well," thought Ryan. "At least they tip well." As Ryan relaxed in the cool night air, he reached to his back pocket, feeling the bulge of tips. He thought that he may have made about $80 tonight! He considered counting it right then, but knew that this would be a bad idea. Living in Chino had taught him many things, not the least of which was to keep your money out of sight. Allowing others to know how much you had--or where it was kept--was asking to be robbed.

As Ryan walked over to the bike rack, he reached his arms behind his back and clasped his hands together, lifting them slowly up towards his head, to stretch the muscles in his upper back. Just then, he felt a pair of rough hands tightly grasp his wrists. Ryan's automatic reaction was that of a strangely calm panic. He hated physical confrontations--Hell, he hated any physical contact, whatsoever, but he knew how to handle them. It seemed that he was almost more comfortable when he was in the middle of a physically dangerous situation, because at least then he knew where the pain was coming from. Waiting and wondering about the next time was almost worse.

Reacting instinctively, Ryan used the force being applied to his upper body, and bent down faster, kicking out his right leg behind him. Unfortunately the man who held Ryan's wrists was prepared, and he had already stepped aside. Now that Ryan was bent almost double, his attacker shoved him forward, towards the brick wall of the Crab Shack. Stumbling, Ryan began to worry, as the fight left him. This always happened; when Ryan realized that he could not win a fight, he would shut down. The fear would take over, and he would submit. As he reached the wall, his attacker relaxed a little of the pressure on Ryan's arms, and he was able to stand up straight. Before Ryan had a chance to turn and see the person behind him, a fist grabbed some hair on the back of his head, and he was slammed, face-first, into the rough brick wall. Dizzy, Ryan saw bright specks behind his closed lids for a few seconds, and he almost passed out. However, the coolness of the bricks helped to keep him awake. "Don't pass out!" Ryan thought to himself, knowing how dangerous it could be to lose consciousness during an attack. 

Groaning, Ryan struggled against the hand that held his wrists prisoner, simultaneously pushing against the hand between his shoulder blades. However, due to the pain and the inevitable weakening of his resolve, his attempts were fruitless. Years of violent and unpredictable beatings had taught Ryan that it is safest to remain silent in these situations, so he resisted the urge to ask who was hurting him. 

Gasping quietly, Ryan waited. 

As he felt increased pressure on his back, he realized that the man was slowly leaning in towards Ryan. Anxiously, he tried one last time to shake off his attacker, but it was still no use. As the man's face neared Ryan's, his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. He began shaking uncontrollably, squirming and whimpering, trying to get away from the return of a nightmarish past, and hoping that this man would not take something from him that he had no right to. 

What Ryan felt next was this man's hot breath on the side of his face, as the man pressed Ryan flat against the wall with his own body. Now, as Ryan squirmed, he felt the man's closeness all too well. The temporary bit of fight that had returned to the surface left him completely, and he tried frantically to send his mind far away. Before he had a chance, the man spoke.

"Well, if it isn't the little shit."

Ryan's eyes popped open in recognition. His stomach sank, and he felt dizzy again, but this time it was not from the pain in his bruised face and head. 

"A.J." he whispered.

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Author's note:How is it? I have more already written, but I need to know if anyone is even interested. Please let me know what you think, but please be nice. I can take constructive criticism, but I'll probably cry if I read any nasty reviews.


	2. The Old, Familiar Dance

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Disclaimer: Still don't own anything from the O.C., still haven't made up any original characters, and I'm not makin' any money!

Question: Can someone tell me why I can't seem to find my story on the fanfiction site, but others have? I know that they must have, because I've gotten reviews. I just thought that it would be cool to see my story, and I can't seem to find it. Am I just unobservant?

Author's Note: Thank you!!!!!!!!! I am so blessed to have received such wonderful reviews! I truly did not think that anyone would care, let alone appreciate what I had to say. I cannot believe the wonderful people at this site. 

I truly do not know how to thank everybody. How about cyber Starbucks? J 

I do not intend to thank each reviewer personally, every time, but these people are special to me. They are the first to review my writing, and they are so kind and generous. They will always hold a special place in my heart.

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Antigone11: "very dramatic and scary" wow! Thank you. That is a really great compliment! J I truly hope that you are okay with what happens in this chapter. It is not rape, but it is not pleasant. I never intended for there to be any sexual references in this story at all; that's just not what I usually create. But, as weird as it sounds, sometimes, the story just writes itself for me. I try to make it go my way, and sometimes, I just can't make it work. It really is like the characters and plot have their own wills or something. I tried several times to change this story back to a history of physical/emotional abuse only, but it just doesn't work. I hope that you can enjoy my story anyway. If not, I understand, but I appreciate the kind review.

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Skyeyes, BlueStarGirl, and BeatlechickSteph: Thank you all so much for your kind, encouraging words. I really never thought that people would be anxious for my next posting, and I cannot tell you how gladdened I am that you like my work! *giggles*

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RachelCarter2428: I hate cliffhangers too! I tried to make this one better, just for you. You have a note at the end! J By the way, what does Imfao mean?

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Brandywine421: I am truly honored that you have read my first chapter. I have read everything that you have written, and you are my favorite author. You are an incredible writer, and you are so interesting. I honestly feel like I have met a celebrity. I had to triple-check the reviewer box to be sure that it actually did say your name! I am anxious to see what you think of my writing. I'm so nervous! I hope that you like what I have to say, and how I say it, but if you don't, it is enough of an honor that you are even reading my story! Thank you.

Seriously, everyone, read Brandywine's stories! She's spectacular!

Back in the Hole

Chapter 2

The Old, Familiar Dance

As the blood dripped into his eyes, a disconnected part of Ryan's brain realized that he had a gash on his forehead. Rather than worry about A.J.'s return into his life, Ryan's brain apparently decided that it would be better to decide how he had gotten cut. _Oh, yeah, _Ryan thought. _He slammed my face into the brick. That must be how I got cut._

"Yo! Shithead!" A.J. hissed, his hot, rancid breath bringing Ryan back to the cold, painful reality of the situation. "Pay attention!" With that, A.J. moved his hand from Ryan's upper back and grabbed another fistful of his hair. Normally, Ryan would have tried to take advantage of this opportunity to squirm out from under A.J., but he knew that it was futile. He'd been here before. If A.J. wanted to hurt him, A.J. would hurt him, and there was no use fighting it. Ryan tried not to gag from the stench of A.J.'s breath, as the older man pulled Ryan's head out from the wall and slammed it three more times into the brick. Because Ryan's face had been turned to the left, his right temple and ear took the full brunt of the blows. At the first one, Ryan managed to hold in his grunts of pain, but the second and third impacts forced the sounds from him.

While Ryan was still dazed, A.J. leaned in again, replacing his hand on the boy's upper back. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut again, reacting to the pain, the blood, the stench, and the fear. 

His mind continued its fragmentation, a part of it whispering, _Notagain-not again-not again-not again-notagain…_ The other part remained calm and cool, reminding himself that this was just the way life is. There's always pain, and things never change, and they never work out for the best. This is the part of the brain that told Ryan to stop struggling, stay quiet, and just wait it out. Feeling A.J.'s entire body pressed against his made this task difficult. He tried to breathe regularly, but began gasping loudly. Fighting the spiral of panic, Ryan struggled with everything he had to remain calm, and listen to the practical part of the brain, but he could feel that the control had slipped away. 

A.J., noticing the boy's routine reaction, smiled, and he took advantage of his power. He slowly began to grind his body against Ryan's, laughing out loud when Ryan's gasps turned into panting moans. A.J. knew that he had a small window before Ryan freaked out completely, and--while it would be fun to watch the kid lose it--he needed Ryan coherent. Ryan was no use to him if he couldn't listen. 

With his face pressed right against Ryan's, A.J. started to whisper. "Look, kid, shut up and stop squirmin'. I know that you're not the last jerk in that restaurant, and we got business to 'tend to."  
  
Ryan could barely hear the words, and it took a few seconds for him to comprehend their meaning. A.J. wasn't going to take him away? He was going to complete some business with Ryan, and then let him go? It was almost too much to hope for. He could sense A.J. waiting for a response, and Ryan searched his mind for the appropriate one. What would make him go away the fastest, after causing the least damage?  
  
Ryan took in a deep, hitching breath, quieted his moaning, and nodded slightly, hoping that this was what A.J. wanted. 

"Good," A.J. whispered, as another evil little grin played across his face. "Let's make this quick. Wouldn't want your little friends to see me out here. You know I don't like to be recognized."  
  
Sensing that it was time for him to respond again, Ryan repeated his nod. 

"Your ma tol' me that you got yourself a sweet deal out here. At first, we didn't care, 'cause, to be honest, we were glad to be rid of ya. But then we started thinking', 'why should he have it so easy? The little shit's livin' the high life, and **WE'RE **stuck in **FUCKIN' CHINO**, with fuckin' **RATS **in the **LIVING ROOM**!'" 

A.J. had gotten more and more angry as he spoke, and this last was practically shouted. Ryan flinched, afraid that A.J. would lose control, like he usually did, but A.J. calmed down. 

"So we decided," A.J. continued, "that you owed us. You should repay us for all that we've done for you! I had to put up with you for **six **fuckin' years, and I treated you like my own son, and you just ditch us!? You're a fuckin' shit!" The anger took over, and A.J. took his hand from Ryan's back and slammed his fist into Ryan's left kidney, once, twice, three times. 

Ryan bucked, blinded by the pain. He felt himself sliding into blackness, and then felt his stomach revolt. _Oh, shit_, he thought, as he puked all over the wall. He would have collapsed if A.J. had not still been holding onto him. As A.J. slammed Ryan flat against the wall again, Ryan groaned. Ryan had actually planned to argue the point that A.J. had never acted like a father, but the practical part of his mind forced him to think better of it. He was already in enough pain, and there was obviously still more of this little encounter to go through. No sense intentionally bringing some more beatings. That would just be stupid.

"So here's the plan," A.J. continued, as if they had not taken a break for some minor kidney damage. "You're going to go back to that fancy lawyer's house, and you're going to make a list."  
  
Ryan sighed in defeat. He knew what was going to be demanded of him. And he had **no **idea how to get out of it.

"This list of goods better be right, man, 'cause you're gonna invite your mom over for a little heart to heart in a couple days, and she's gonna check your work. Get me?" he snarled, spittle flying into Ryan's face. 

Ryan nodded again.

"Okay," A.J. grinned. This little shit had always been easy to manipulate. Sure he mouthed off and fought back every once in a while, but he was such a little pussy; all you had to do was get close to the kid, invade his space a little, and he'd shut down and do anything you wanted. Chuckling, A.J. leaned in fully, pushing as hard as he could against Ryan, pressing him painfully into the wall. 

Ryan kept reminding himself that this would be over soon, that A.J. wouldn't go too far this time, because they were in public, and his co-workers would be coming out soon. Part of Ryan wished they would come out now, and make A.J. go away, but that was the little boy in him. The 16 year old Ryan Atwood knew that any witnesses would just bring more shame, and A.J. would still get his way. He always did.

"I'll find you tomorrow, fucker," A.J. growled into Ryan's ear. "You'll give me the list, and then I'll tell you when to bring us the stuff." Ryan nodded again, just wanting A.J. to leave, when his nightmare suddenly came to life. 

A.J.'s hand had begun to slide down Ryan's back. The world started to spin, and Ryan begun to float away, but he was pulled back by the sudden grinding pain in his wrists, as A.J. twisted them in his grip. "Uh-uh-uh, pretty-boy, you're gonna stay right here with me," A.J. whispered, as his hand slid down onto Ryan's butt. Ryan began to pant and moan again, unable to fade into the comforting darkness while his wrists were in such pain. 

In his mind, Ryan began to scream. 

A.J.'s hand slipped into Ryan's left rear pocket, exploring every centimeter of space. It moved slowly over to his right rear pocket, and Ryan began to gag once more. Laughing, A.J. continued his violation. Ryan puked again. A.J.'s hand slid into Ryan's right rear pocket, and he said, "Ah, there we are," as he pulled out Ryan's wad of tips. "Next time, there'd better be more money in this pocket, pretty-boy." With that, he released Ryan's hands and shoved him roughly to the ground. 

As Ryan began to curl up into himself, A.J. started kicking. After delivering a few serious blows to Ryan's stomach, A.J. pulled back his foot, and viciously connected with Ryan's chin. Ryan's whole head snapped back, and he was afraid his neck was breaking, tasting the blood as it gushed from his chin and spattered his face and the wall behind. 

Still gasping, eyes closed, clenched into as tight a ball as possible, Ryan waited for the next blows. After a few seconds, he slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see A.J.'s glare. He was relieved to discover that A.J. had disappeared. 

Groaning, Ryan closed his eyes again, trying to regain control. He couldn't stop feeling A.J.'s body on his, that foul breath on his face, those hands--Ryan shuddered, forcefully pushing the memories down, as deep into his brain as possible. He had to get up, get home, before somebody saw him. As he attempted to sit, he cried out in pain. He had been so appalled by A.J.'s other assault, that he had almost forgotten that he had endured quite a lot of physical damage as well. Taking in a deep breath and biting his lower lip, Ryan forced himself into a sitting position. "Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!" Ryan howled through his clenched mouth. Gasping, Ryan knew that he had to hurry. It was possible that someone from the Crab Shack had heard something by now. He knew that both he and A.J. had tried to be as quiet as possible, but both had yelled a few times. At least the restaurant's closing routine meant that the radio would be blaring, and the employees would be yelling their conversations back and forth. He just had to hope that they were still working. Ryan had no idea how long he had been locked in this confrontation with A.J., but he thought that it couldn't have been long enough for the next employee to clock out. 

Taking a shaky breath, Ryan began to assess his injuries. His wrists and arms were sore from being restrained, but they weren't broken. He didn't think that his wrists were even sprained, but there might be a few torn ligaments. He wasn't sure. Because he felt a piercing ache with each inhalation, Ryan figured that he probably had at least two, maybe three broken ribs. More painful than this was the pain in his lower back, where A.J. had punched him with such force. This was a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed with each beat of his heart, and it sent sharp tendrils across his lower back. He wouldn't know for a few hours if he had any kidney damage, but he was pretty sure that he did. His face was bleeding in three areas. His forehead was shredded from the first blow against the bricks, and there was already a lump forming, but the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Ryan didn't think that it was anything serious. The damage to the right side of his face was worse; this was bleeding a little more, but Ryan still figured that it would be okay. The most immediate problem--assuming that the kidney was just bruised, and not lacerated--was the wound on his chin, which was still flowing freely. Ryan was afraid that it would need stitches. _Maybe not. Maybe it's just bleeding really badly. I can get by without stitches. _He tore off a strip from his shirt, and pressed it to his chin, wincing at the pressure. His jaw and chin ached from the kick to the face, but he didn't think that they were broken. The pain in his neck was dying down, so he figured that this was not serious. He pulled the piece of cloth away from his chin, and groaned as he saw the amount of blood. He had already soaked through this piece of cloth. Tentatively, he reached up a shaking hand, and felt along the cut. Defeatedly, he realized that the bone was exposed. _FUCK! Damn you, A.J.!_ Ryan snarled in his mind. _Stupid fucker, sending me to the hospital. _It's gonna arouse suspicion, and make it harder for A.J. to get what he wants. But then, A.J. would have to be smart and capable of forethought, for this to matter. A.J. was a man of action, not of thought. 

Ryan felt A.J.'s hands on him again, and he fought the rising bile in his throat. Ryan knew that there could not possibly be anymore food in his stomach, and he knew the pain that more vomiting would make his ribs and back worse. But then, thinking of the pain was actually a good way to block out the worst part of tonight's encounter, so Ryan decided to let it come. This time, it was just dry heaves, and Ryan felt like he was choking, as his diaphragm tried to rid his body of his stomach and intestines. Tears streamed from Ryan's eyes, and he gasped in relief as the spasms eased. _Pretty-boy_, he heard in his head. Panicking, Ryan twisted, trying to find A.J. He hissed, as he hurt his ribs and back more. Realizing that A.J.'s voice was only in his head, Ryan welcomed the pain. He wanted it to take his mind off of A.J.'s violation, but it wasn't working. _Okay_, he thought. _Here goes_. He wrenched his body to the side, and he screamed in agony. 

Well, it worked, he thought grimly. He was certainly focusing on the pain now. 

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Rachel Carter 2428: I had originally intended to end this chapter after, "In his head, Ryan began to scream," but I thought of you. I hope that this ending is better! J 

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Author's note: Well, now I understand why it takes so long to post another chapter. I've only recently discovered fanfiction, and I lurked for about two weeks, groaning in frustration as I waited painfully for the next update. I've even checked at work and at a friend's house! Not acceptable! Now I understand. Even though I already had this story mostly written, I had to check my medical facts. My mom's an R.N., and I needed her advice on the wounds and their repercussions. I'm glad I checked with her, because some of them were wrong.

I've had this story in my head since about the third episode of the O.C. I've had to update the details a little since then, but I wrote it a few months ago. Sometimes, I just get a story in my head, and it won't go away until I've written it down. I had no idea that there would ever be a forum for others to read my stories. I've been so awed by the talent on this site, and by the incredible stories that I've read, that I finally got up the courage to post this. I was so scared. I'm _incredibly_ shy and sensitive, so I wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but you guys are fantastic! I always read the reviews of the stories that I review, and I have been encouraged by the amount of positive feedback. It is hard to criticize constructively, and most of the reviews that I have seen are helpful. It's the few nasty ones that really scared me. I know that I cannot please everybody, but I just don't understand people being mean, unprovoked. I thank you all for being kind.

I hope that you enjoyed this, and I'll post more soon!

Please read and review! J 


	3. How it Began

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Warning:Please, _please,_ don't read this if reading about childhood sexual abuse is too hard for you, for whatever reason. Especially if you have your own experiences. This can be hard. This goes into detail about what happens when a predator "grooms" his victim. It may be very hard to take. 

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Author's note: I'm sorry that this took so long. Like I said, I had a lot more written, but I had skipped this part, so I finally had to write it now. 

This was really hard for me. I know that it may not seem to flow well, but I had to write it in spurts. 

I'm not sure that I'm doing the right thing. 

Back in the Hole

Chapter 3

How it Began

Gritting his teeth, Ryan managed to avoid passing out from the pain, and he sighed in relief as the worst of it eased. Grateful that he had managed to shove the memories deeper into his brain, Ryan knew that he had to decide upon a plan of action. The biggest question was whether or not to go to the hospital for his chin (and possibly the annoying kidney). However, Ryan realized that this could not be decided right here and now; he needed to be out of sight, so he could plan in peace. He had to think, by himself, before he decided on the next step. He figured that the best place to do this was the beach. Because it was so late, there would likely be no one around, and he could remain inconspicuous in the dark, if someone did happen to show up. Luckily, the Crab Shack was right near the beach, so he wouldn't have far to go. Unfortunately, this first part of his plan meant that he had to get up.

Sighing, Ryan decided to just suck it up and stand, regardless of the hurt, like tearing off a band-aid. Taking in as deep a breath as his broken ribs would allow, he closed his eyes and pulled himself up, sliding against the wall as he went. Hissing, yet determined to remain quiet, Ryan stood still for a few minutes, breathing through the pain. When he could finally open his eyes again, he slowly headed for the beach. Walking wasn't all that difficult. It was the twisting and bending that were the worst; his ribs really complained when he asked them to perform these jobs. He was winded by the time he reached the beach, also a consequence of the broken ribs. 

As Ryan moved toward the water, the salty sea air began to fill his lungs, and he felt mildly refreshed. Chino had always been so grimy and dirty, and the air here in Newport just tasted so pure. As a boy, Ryan had only visited the beach twice, but it had left a lasting mark on the boy's soul. Somehow, the beach had just calmed him, and he felt whole. When things were at their worst, Ryan had often imagined himself on a deserted island, with no anger, violence, drugs, or unwelcome hands, surrounded by the sea air, the sunshine, and the birds. 

When he could walk no further, Ryan sat down in the damp sand, not caring about keeping his clothes clean. He had other, more important things to worry about. Carefully, Ryan inhaled as much sea air as he could, closing his eyes and giving in to the sensations around him. The cool night air had always helped to calm him, and it did not fail him now. Ryan could already sense himself relaxing a little. Keeping his eyes closed, he focused on the sound of the waves, gently washing up onto the sand. He loved hearing the distant rumble, and he could almost imagine that he was out in the middle of it, alone, untroubled, and free. After a few moments, he laid back into the sand, wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs. He convinced himself to ignore the nagging pains in his lower back and ribs for now, instead focusing on the calming effects of the sea. He was glad that the beach was usually abandoned at this time of night; any intruders would really have pissed him off, messing up his relaxation time.

Grimly Ryan chuckled to himself. _Relaxation,_ he thought disgustedly. _Only you could actually consider being relaxed right now, even though you know what is going to happen in the next few weeks. It's all going to start again, and you're going to lose everything. AGAIN!!!!!!! FUCK YOU A.J.!!!!!_ Well, so much for relaxation. Ryan realized that he _had_ to decide on his next step now.

**__**

A.J.

Sitting in the shadows, far enough away so that they couldn't hear each other, A.J. watched Ryan. He had left when the kid still had his eyes closed outside of the Crab Shack, and he had stayed to watch the boy's next move. A.J. figured that the little shit wouldn't be stupid enough to get help from anyone in that fancy, overpriced restaurant, but he had to stay and make sure. When Ryan had begun to move to the beach, A.J.'s smug satisfaction had grown. _This kid was so easy! He always did what he was told!_ A.J. couldn't believe his luck. When he'd first gotten involved with Dawn, he'd tried to make her ditch her kids, but he soon realized that this one could actually be worth something. 

A.J. had begun Ryan's training after the first week. It started with a lot of prolonged eye contact. While he was a tough ten year-old, the kid was still a little boy, and A.J. could see that Ryan was very nervous around him. He used this to the fullest advantage, invading the boy's personal space and staring deeply into his eyes, until Ryan would look away, surrendering. Of course, A.J. made sure that Ryan would never know what A.J. would do next. Sometimes, he'd just stare intently, others he would slowly move closer and closer to Ryan, never breaking eye contact. He often moved in close enough so that their bodies were almost touching, but sometimes he didn't. It was important to keep the kid off guard. There were random punches and slaps, interspersed with serious beatings, and A.J. knew that he was getting to the kid. His eyes had begun to take on a hollow look, and Ryan had stopped eating so much. He got pale, and he often stayed away from home. By the time A.J. had lived with them for about two months, he was ready to move to the next step. 

**__**

Ryan

Unwillingly, Ryan had begun remembering A.J.'s entrance into their lives. He had been suspicious of the creep from the beginning, but his mom had--of course--not cared to hear anything that her sons had to say. Ryan never felt right when A.J. would stare at him so fixedly. The ten year-old could sense an ulterior motive, but he had not yet had enough experience to know what this motive was. All Ryan knew was that A.J. was always just really _close_. He seemed to like intimidating Ryan by standing almost against him, and when Ryan backed away, he sometimes beat him for it. Ryan was never sure what was happening, but he eventually learned to just be still when A.J. was around. He found that A.J. was less likely to beat him if he just did what A.J. wanted. He just never realized that he was trapping himself. 

After A.J. had been living with them for almost two months, A.J. had begun something new. Previously, whenever they were standing in close proximity, they had never actually touched (unless A.J. was beating him). One day, A.J. raised his hand as if to strike, and Ryan closed his eyes, waiting for the worst. Instead of a blow, Ryan felt an almost gentle caress on his face. He looked up to see A.J. smirking, and then A.J. walked away. Shocked, Ryan stood still for a second, and then he broke from his trance and ran for his room. He made sure not to slam the door, because that always pissed A.J. off, and he slid his dresser in front of the door. Not that the dresser could actually do any good, but it made Ryan feel a little safer, nonetheless. He ran into his favorite hiding place, in the closet. He knew that a closet was not really a hiding place, but at least it was dark and small, and he could think. He couldn't stop wondering about what had just happened. Ryan had been sure that A.J. was going to hit him, but he had…touched him instead. Ryan felt really uncomfortable. Something didn't feel right. But what was so wrong? A.J. had only touched his face. All the teachers at school said not to let someone touch you in your "bathing suit areas," but they never said anything about your face. Your face wasn't a bathing suit area, so it couldn't be wrong. Could it? 

Not knowing what to do, Ryan just stayed in the closet and waited for Trey to come home. Maybe Trey could help. Probably not, but Ryan would still try, anyway. Knowing that Trey wouldn't come home for awhile, he decided to let himself drift off to sleep. 

Ryan woke with a start when he heard movement in his bedroom. Stiffening, Ryan began to breathe shallowly, hoping that the person would not hear him. Ryan stifled a scream when the closet door opened, but it was only Trey.

"Hey. A.J. give you trouble?" Trey asked, as he tossed himself down on their bed.

"How'd you know?" asked Ryan, as he came out of the closet, rubbing his eyes. 

Trey, eyes closed, arm over his face, head on his pillow, lazily raised his other arm and pointed at the dresser in front of the door. 

Oh, yeah, thought Ryan. He knew that Trey never used the front door anymore, preferring to avoid A.J. and their mom by entering and exiting through the boys' window. This is why Ryan had felt no hesitation in blocking their door. 

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his feet. He could still feel A.J.'s hand on his cheek, and he rubbed hard at it, hoping to erase the lasting impression. Shakily, he cleared his throat, and whispered his brother's name.

"Trey?"

"What?"

Suddenly, Ryan had no idea what to say. How could he ask Trey about something so stupid? If Ryan didn't even know what had truly happened, then how could he expect Trey to help him?  
  
Trey raised his head a little, removing his arm and looking at his little brother through half-opened eyes. He was really tired, and he just wanted to sleep, but Ry had sounded so pathetic. He was really a good little kid, and he didn't deserve the shit that their mom and her string of boyfriends always dished out, but there was only so much that Trey could do. He was just a kid, too, so he was having enough trouble taking care of himself. He knew that he needed to help tonight, if he could.

"What's up, buddy?" he asked kindly, rising to a half-sitting position, resting on his elbows. Ryan really looked upset.

"Nothing," he replied dejectedly. "I just want to sleep and you were on my part of the bed."

Not believing his brother, Trey quietly moved over onto his half, still watching. Ryan quietly pulled off his shoes, lifted the covers, and climbed in, his back to Trey. Trey wanted to help, but what could he do? If Ryan wouldn't talk, he couldn't make him. NO one could. Ryan had always been tight-lipped, but he had almost stopped talking entirely when A.J. had moved in. Trey could understand why; the bastard had a vicious mean streak, and he always seemed to looking for a reason to scream and beat on one of them. He really seemed to enjoy it. Ryan's method of coping was silence, and Trey's was avoidance. Hell, whatever floats your boat, right?

Sighing, Trey also removed his shoes and climbed into the bed. He didn't need to turn off the light, since neither had bothered to turn it on. The light through the crack under the door might have drawn A.J.'s attention, and that was never a good thing. It had only taken a few times before Ryan and Trey had silently decided that the light should just stay off. 

Trey thought he heard Ryan sob, and he listened intently for a few minutes. When he heard nothing more, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

**__**

A.J.

Watching Ryan from some distance, A.J. continued to smirk at the fun he'd had with this boy. The first time he'd caressed the kid, A.J. had almost pissed his pants, he'd been laughing so hard. The kid was so confused, he couldn't even speak! It was great! Ryan had run off to his bedroom, and he didn't see the kid again for two days. When they did finally meet again, A.J. had beaten him for spilling juice in the kitchen. He had to keep the kid unsure of himself. His plan called for a wait between touches, to make sure the kid thought it was just a fluke, or that he'd misunderstood. After several months of this touch-and-go, back-and-forth, the kid would find himself trapped.

**__**

Ryan

Ryan had certainly found himself trapped. 

A.J.'s touches had moved from just his face, but they were never what the boy thought would be considered inappropriate. Sometimes, A.J.'s hand would brush his thigh as they passed in the hall, or his hand would lightly drag across Ryan's lower back, after a beating. Ryan became more and more confused. This touching still didn't seem to qualify as "bad touching," like they had talked about in school, but it really made Ryan feel uncomfortable. He had begun to feel uncomfortable in his skin. He started wearing layers and long sleeves, trying to minimize skin contact with anyone. He no longer felt that he had control over his own body. Then A.J. had begun to move his quick, light touches to the boy's butt. Still, Ryan was never sure if it was an accident or on purpose, but he didn't know what to do. What was he going to say? "My mom's boyfriend accidentally brushed my hip as we passed each other in the narrow hallway"? No one would take that seriously. It had to be nothing. Right? 

Then he'd touched Ryan's crotch. Again, it seemed accidental, but this snapped Ryan out of his confusion.

By the time he'd really realized that A.J. was crossing some boundaries, it was too late to do anything. He'd let A.J. go too far too many times, and now no one would believe him. A.J. had a hold on Ryan, and Ryan couldn't get out.

**__**

A.J.

A.J. loved torturing the kid. He wasn't a pedophile; sex with kids didn't turn him on. He just liked messing with the little shit, freaking him out. For A.J., it wasn't about sex or arousal; it was all about control. Control and power. 

Not that he had a problem with pedophiles. He knew plenty, and they never caused him any trouble. He was doing this because he knew that he could make some good money off this kid, and have a good time while he did it. Sitting on the beach, A.J. knew that he would own this kid forever.

**__**

Ryan

The crash of a wave brought Ryan back to the present. He didn't know why, but he had drifted into his memories again. _Damn it! I've got things to decide right now! I can't wallow in self-pity. Besides, it's all my fault anyway._ Ryan shook his head, remembering the gash in his chin which needed stitching, and the job that he had to do for A.J. He couldn't tell the Cohens what A.J. wanted. They would probably try to help, and they couldn't, so they would just get hurt. Snorting, Ryan realized that A.J. hadn't even bothered to threaten the Cohens. He knew that Ryan would never involve innocent people in this. 

Suddenly, Ryan had a worse thought. _What if the Cohens didn't try to help? What if they really believed that I was going to steal their stuff and leave? It wasn't that far-fetched. I had gotten busted for stealing a car, after all. _Ryan didn't really think that they'd believe he could take their stuff, but he still didn't want them to think badly of him. Ryan had no idea how to get A.J. off his back without alerting the Cohens or complying with A.J.'s demands, but he knew one thing, right now. 

He had to get to the hospital. If it had just been the ribs, Ryan wouldn't have considered the hospital. He knew that there was really nothing they could do for him, unless a rib had punctured a lung, and he knew that this was not the case. He was still breathing all right. Sure, it was a little tough to get a breath, but he actually _could _get a breath, and this is impossible with a punctured lung. Ryan knew. He'd been through it twice before. 

The ribs weren't all, though. His chin was pretty bad, and his kidney was still yelling at him. Sighing, Ryan gently pulled himself up, and began the walk to the payphone. He would call Seth. He'd say he'd been attacked and mugged (Hell, it was the truth, anyway), and Seth would bring him to the hospital. He knew he'd have to deal with Sandy and Kirsten's questions, but he would take care of that later. For now, he needed help.

**__**

A.J.

A.J. watched Ryan walk back towards the Crab Shack. When he saw Ryan head away from his bike, and towards the phone, his anger began to rise. _That little shit was going to call someone!? He KNEW better than that!_

A.J. began to head after Ryan, determined to remind the little asshole what happened when he disobeyed A.J., but he slowed as he neared the phone. Ryan hadn't heard him coming, and he was still talking.

"Seth, please," he pleaded tiredly. "Just come get me. We'll tell your parents later….I was mugged Seth!…Outside the Crab Shack; I already told you!…Fine….Fine!…Yeah, I know, your parents will come too." Dejectedly, Ryan hung up the phone, sighed, and sat himself down on the curb to wait. 

__

Good, thought A.J. _The kid had stuck to the old routine._ He slunk back to his truck, and waited until the kid's new family had picked him up. He had Ryan right where he wanted him.

**__**

Ryan

While Ryan waited for the Cohens, he felt an old, familiar blanket of depression settle itself into his mind. It was no use. _Nothing will turn out right. I'm an Atwood, and Atwoods all suffer. Time to give up. I thought I had escaped, but I'm drifting right back in. _

Back in the hole.


	4. Abandoned Again

**__**

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the O.C. I am making no money. I have been inspired by this show and its characters, and my imagination has wandered. I am just sharing my musings with others. Please do not sue. I have nothing to give.

**__**

Author's Note: If I still have any readers left, after the difficult chapter 3, thank you. I appreciate the kind reviews. I had a lot of trouble with ch. 3, and it took some time to get back to the story. Plus, I had to change some things for chapter 4, since I had never actually written ch. 3. Once 3 was written, some things in 4 had to change. Don't worry; it's not as hard to read as the last one was.

Back in the Hole

Chapter 4

Abandoned Again

As Ryan sat on the curb underneath the pay phone, he thought about the impending confrontation with Sandy and Kirsten. He had promised them that he would stay out of trouble. "No more fights," they had said. He was afraid that they would somehow blame him for the trouble tonight. He knew that he didn't really deserve the home and care that the Cohens had given to him, and that it was only a matter of time before they realized that he was just a worthless loser, but he had hoped to make it last longer than this.

Sighing, Ryan shifted gently, remembering to be careful with his ribs. He knew that there was still a possibility that one of them could puncture a lung, and that was not a pain that he cared to experience again. Twice had been enough, thank you very much.

He glanced at his watch, realizing that time had been going so slowly. It had only been about two minutes since he had hung up with Seth, and the house was at least five minutes away. He still had a few minutes until everyone arrived.

Ryan let his mind replay the phone conversation with Seth. When he'd said that he'd been hurt, Seth had immediately assumed that Luke and his water polo buddies had been the culprits. For some reason, he really refused to believe Ryan's assertions that Luke had been nowhere around. Seth was convinced that Ryan was lying about his attacker. Of course, Ryan actually _was_ lying, but that was beside the point. Ryan had convinced Seth to keep his suspicions to himself, and Seth had convinced Ryan that he could not take his wounded brother to the hospital without informing their parents. This meant that the entire Cohen family would come along for the little "save Ryan Atwood in the middle of the night" field trip.

__

I'm always causing trouble, Ryan thought dejectedly. _Why can't I just be a normal kid, without bringing all this crap to other people's lives? I've already caused so much damage here. So many people would just be better off without me here._

The sound of a siren broke Ryan out of his thoughts. He always assumed that the cops were coming for him or his family, and he never liked that sound. He stayed still for a few moments, hoping that the sirens would head in another direction, but he was an Atwood. Of course the siren was coming this way.

Ryan checked warily around the parking lot, looking to see if there was anybody around who had witnessed the confrontation between himself and A.J. He didn't think that this could have been the reason, since it had been a while ago, but he had no other guesses right now.

Suddenly, it occurred to him. _What if the Cohens called the police? Would they really do that? Maybe they're just sick of picking up after me, and they're fed up and they didn't want to have to deal with me tonight? Sandy and Kirsten are both too responsible to just leave me when I need help, and Seth would nag them until they took care of me in some way, so maybe that's why they called the police. They wouldn't just be ditching me back into the system. Would they?_

As Ryan wondered, he bit his lip lightly, and then gasped as it pulled at the split skin on his chin. Just then a police car rolled into the parking lot of the Crab Shack, lights spinning and siren blaring. Even before the car had rolled to a complete stop, both of the officers' doors were open, and they were stepping out, guns drawn.

Ryan reacted without thinking. He was already standing as the car pulled into sight, his hands clenched into tight fists. Shaking, he began to back away.

"Ryan Atwood!" called the driver of the police car. "Are you Ryan Atwood!?" When Ryan didn't respond, but continued to take slow steps backwards, this officer became angrier. He was here to help a boy who had been mugged, and--from the looks of it--this was the kid. Why was he trying to leave? Cops do have jobs to do. "DON'T MOVE!" he yelled. After all, he did have to be careful not to let the perpetrator go, right? If he scared a little sense into the kid, that would be a bonus, too.

Sliding into panic, Ryan began to hyperventilate. This should have hurt his ribs, but the adrenaline was pumping through his body, and he noticed no pain right now. Logically, he knew that he had to obey the officer. There was no point in resisting. There were two of them, they were uninjured, and they had weapons. Ryan would never win. The rest of Ryan's brain, and every fiber in his body were all screaming at Ryan to _RUN_! If he stayed, there would be pain and touching and questions and prying, and nothing would be fixed. Things always get worse. _Remember, you're an Atwood._

"Kid, don't do it," the second officer warned, as Ryan took a faltering half-step backwards.

Ryan finally noticed the drawn guns, and he managed to force his body and the rest of his mind to listen to the practical part. He tried to slow his breathing, and his forced his fists to flatten into hands, which he slowly raised to his sides, trying to show the officers that he had no weapons. He knew that the next command would be for him to drop to his knees, and he almost did so before he was told to, but he remembered--just in time--that cops didn't look kindly on unauthorized movements. He had to be careful to avoid getting shot.

"Drop to your knees, kid," the second officer said, not unkindly.

Keeping his eyes on the asphalt, Ryan slowly knelt. He gasped as he felt a sharp stabbing in his ribs, and he reflexively doubled over, clenching both hands to his stomach.

Before Ryan even knew what had happened, he found himself knocked to the pavement, screaming in agony. One cop had tackled him, sending him backwards. When he landed, Ryan hit the back of his head on the ground, and he was suddenly very dizzy. He saw orange spots on his closed lids, and his mouth felt funny. It was kind of vibrating, and he was suddenly tasting something fuzzy. It cleared away within a moment, and Ryan opened his eyes to find himself pinned to the pavement, on his stomach. The searing pain in his lower back had returned, and his ribs were screaming at him, as his arms were pulled behind him. The first cop had his boot on Ryan's upper back, as the second cop cuffed Ryan's wrists. This felt far too familiar, and Ryan could no longer hold back the panic. "Nooooooo…." he moaned, feeling the world start to spin. Once that first word was freed, it was as if he had opened flood gates. He could not seem to stop the screaming.

The officers were stunned, for a moment. They had no clue what was going on with this kid. They had been sent to help a mugging victim, and they were pretty sure that this kid was the one they were looking for. However, until they were sure, they had to proceed under the assumption that he was dangerous. It was a matter of saving their own lives.

Things had been weird from the start with this kid. He was having the wrong reactions to everything, and now he was screaming and writhing and fighting, and it had looked like he had been going for a weapon. They had searched him as they cuffed him, and they knew that he had no weapon, but he had proven to be unpredictable, and unpredictability equaled dangerous, in a cop's life. They had to get this kid calm, and then they could talk to him, make sure that he was Ryan Atwood, and then they could let him out of the cuffs.

They could not understand this kid's reaction. He was screaming. Most of it was just wordless noise, but there were some disturbing sentences in there too.

"Please, don't! Let me go! Let me go! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Notagain-notagain-notagain-notagain-notagain!!!"

Neither cop knew what to do, and they were both glad when the ambulance pulled in. It had been right behind the officers, and they knew that it had only been about two minutes since they had entered the parking lot, but they felt like it had been an eternity.

"What've we got?" asked the first paramedic, as he pulled his gurney from the back of the bus and headed over to the cops.

The first officer filled them in on the events of the last two minutes, and then he added his theory. "I think this kid's a doper. He's gotta be flyin' on something'. He just ain't right."

"We'll check him out," responded the second paramedic. "We're gonna need some help, though. He's stable enough to move, since he's thrashing around so much. If he's injured, we need to immobilize him, to keep him from doing more damage. Can you guys lift him onto the gurney? We'll strap him in, then head to the hospital."

As the officers lifted bent to lift Ryan, the boot was removed from his back. When Ryan felt this, he realized that this was his chance for escape. He tried to roll over and scoot away, but there were too many hands, and they picked him up into the air.

As he was placed onto the gurney, his screams began to turn to sobs, and the fight began to leave him. He was surrendering again. He felt his legs being strapped to the gurney, and he knew what was coming next. "Please," he sobbed. "Please, don't do this to me. Please. Just let me go."

EMT Cruz, who was in the middle of fastening the restraint across Ryan's thighs, paused to look at the boy. This was one messed-up kid. He was truly terrified of something, and Cruz didn't think that the kid was actually with them right now. He had a feeling that this kid was somewhere else, in another time, and that it was not a happy time. He watched the officers remove the cuffs and press the kid back into the gurney, waiting for Cruz to finish strapping the kid down. Shaking himself back to work, Cruz realized that the best way to help this kid would be to get him to the hospital, where they could get a psych consult. This kid sure needed a good head doctor. He began to fasten the chest restraint, planning to return to the waist, once the boy was more secured.

As he reached up to grab the strap, he saw the boy's eyes following his hands. Still sobbing and begging, but never making eye contact, the kid tried to pull away from Cruz' hands. "It's okay, kid," Cruz whispered. "We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help. I'm just gonna get you strapped in here, and then we'll get you to the hospital. They'll take care of you there." Cruz finished fastening Ryan's chest strap, and moved down to the waist strap.

Ryan continued to beg. "Please, please don't tie me down. Please, I'll do whatever you want, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt me. Don't tie me down. Please. I won't run, just let me go. I can stand it if you just don't tie me down, please, don't tie me down."

Cruz felt sickened, but he didn't know what else to do. He fastened the last of Ryan's straps, and then he and his partner, Bailey pushed the gurney into the ambulance, carrying the sobbing boy along with it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From his pickup truck, A.J. couldn't decide whether to laugh or spit. He did love watching the kid freak out. It had been his main source of entertainment for a long time. But this cop-paramedic-hospital thing was ruining his plans. If Ryan kept freaking out, he'd be on a 72-hour psych hold at the hospital, and that would postpone A.J.'s score from the rich lawyer's house. He watched as the EMTs finally pushed Ryan into the ambulance and drove away, and he decided that he had to figure out his next move. He was having trouble thinking, though. He was starting to feel sick. He needed another fix. He'd find Dawn, share a little of her stash, and then figure out what to do next.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the ambulance, Ryan was unaware of the paramedics. He felt their hands touching him, but he did not realize that they were trying to help him. All he knew was that he was feeling pain, hands were touching him, he was tied down, and the Cohens had abandoned him too. _I've been abandoned again. They promised me that I had a home with them, and they've finally ditched me too. I knew it all along. Why does it hurt so much?_ Ryan's thoughts kept going in circles, and he couldn't understand where he was or why these people were hurting him. _Oh, no, I'm tied down! I'm tied down! I have to get up. I have to get away!_ he began to scream to himself. As he struggled to sit up, two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and kept him down. _Quick,_ Ryan thought, _shut down. Get away._

Ryan's mind swiftly, mercifully, finally took him away from the torment.


	5. Time to Wake Up

****

Back in the Hole

Chapter Five

It's Time to Wake Up

Ryan felt safe. And warm. It was nice. He wasn't thinking in complete sentences, or even in words. He was merely existing, his thoughts simple pictures and emotions. He seemed to be floating. It was nice here. He was shrouded in perfect blackness, as if in a cocoon. No sound was penetrating, no light, no hands, nothing. Just blackness and peace. He didn't care about anything or anyone, and he had no needs, desires, guilt, fear, pain, or regret. He was just…existing.

He liked it.

Then he started to be aware of other things. The warmth began to lessen, and there was a slight chill. The shroud was lifting, and he began to see little spots of gray. Ryan became uneasy. He fought to retain this comfortable emptiness. He needed it. It was the only way to be safe, away from everything. He couldn't be hurt here. It was simple.

Despite his greatest efforts, the blackness didn't return. It got a little lighter still. The sounds became more insistent. There was a shrill beeping, lots of clattering, and many harsh, anxious voices. He couldn't recognize any of them, but that was okay, because he really didn't want to. They kept getting louder, and they seemed to be closer.

No. Ryan willed himself to back away from the voices, deeper into the blackness, but it didn't work. They were clearer and clearer, until he could almost understand what they were saying. In this near-waking moment, Ryan had a weird flash of memory. He thought of that old TV show, "Twin Peaks," and the dream sequences with the dwarf that spoke backwards. That creepy method of speech had always chilled Ryan, and the voices now trying to reach him were having the same effect.

As Ryan made one last, determined effort to float back away from the reality, physical sensation began to return.

It was as if he was slammed into the real world with an incredible force. He felt himself spinning, falling, landing hard. He ached everywhere, and the light was so bright. It was hurting his eyes, burning into his skull, threatening to fry his brain. Although reality had returned, memory had not. Ryan had no idea where he was, or why, or what had caused the intense pains he now felt throughout every part of his body, but he knew one thing: **HE HAD TO GET AWAY.**

He didn't know what he was getting away from, except that it wasn't safe outside of the blackness. As long as there were others around, he was in danger. He couldn't just lie here, vulnerable. He had to get up.

While physical sensation returned, Ryan's hearing clarified. Speech slowed down for an instant, got thicker, and then sped up and became normal. The most insistent, closest voice was masculine, and he sounded upset. Danger. "Ryan, it's time to wake up. Come on, kid, wake up. That's it, open your eyes."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doctor Jeffries knew that his young patient had been combative when the paramedics had found him but he'd come in unconscious, and he'd been out for far too long, now. There was really no physical reason for the teen to still be in this condition, and it was definitely time that he wake up. Jeffries was afraid of catatonia. Where the Hell was that guy from Psych?

Sighing, Jeffries continued to attempt to wake the kid. It didn't matter if the psych consult was down here yet, or not.

It was time for this kid to wake up.

"Ryan, it's time to wake up. Come on, kid, wake up. That's it, open your eyes."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ryan didn't know who was speaking to him, or why, and he didn't really care. He could figure that out later. For now, he had to get away. He began to open his eyes, but not because the voice was telling him to; he needed to see where he was if he was going to be able to formulate an escape plan. In the same moment that his eyes began to open, he struggled to sit, intending on standing and backing away from everyone.

In that instant, Ryan panicked.

His eyes flew open, and he almost vomited from the pain, but he had another, more pressing need: he was tied down. He **couldn't **stand up. He was strapped down, to a **BED**, and there were a bunch of strangers in here, and their hands, their **HANDS** were touching him, all over him, and he couldn't get away, couldn't make them stop, couldn't even reach up with his own hands to brush them away, and he had to get away, had to make them stop, had to make them stop, had to make them

"STOOOOOOPPP!!!!" Ryan howled.

But the hands didn't stop, the voices didn't stop, and he was still tied down. Desperate, unthinking, purely reacting, he began to flail wildly, shrieking in utter terror. This scream was wordless. It was just a deep, primal howl, accompanied by panicked grunts and moans, as the voices became more and more insistent, and there were three of them right at his head, and they wouldn't back off, wouldn't let him up, and he was still tied down, and the hands were all over him. Clenching his eyes shut, Ryan strained with all of his might against the straps binding him to this bed, and he gasped and recoiled when he felt two hands pushing forcefully on his shoulders, pressing him down into the bed. Another pair of hands was tightly grasping his ankles, and someone was pressing on his waist…_Oh, God, no,_ Ryan whimpered inside his head. Suddenly, his tactic for escape changed from a wild bucking and thrashing to a concerted effort to shrink back into the bed as hard as he could, pulling away from all of those hands, but especially those at his waist. He couldn't, he couldn't get away, they were all over him, he was trapped, he was in so much pain, and the voices wouldn't go away.

He started to give in, again. Just like that, he switched from abject, primal terror to a whimpering, cowering, desperate attempt at crawling back away inside of his mind. He knew that the best way to do this was to be still and ignore the physical sensations. He couldn't hide if he was aware of reality. Pain and…hands…would only keep him here. He had to ignore them, and then he could slip away, but he had to do it quick. The longer he stayed here, the less likely it was that he would be able to slip through that crack in his mind and hide.

It was starting to work, he started to slip away, but the hands kept pressing hard, and they were hurting his ribs, and they were **touching** him, and he kept sliding back away from the entrance to his hiding place, and he was frustrated, as well as scared.

"Ryan!" that insistent, angry man yelled, right in his face. Definitely angry. Pissed off. Not good. "Ryan, stop it **RIGHT NOW!** You have **got** to calm down, or you will only hurt yourself more. Do you understand me?"

__

Calm down, or he'll hurt me more. Is that what he said? Of course that's what he said. What else is going to happen when you don't obey?

Receiving no response, the man leaned in closer to Ryan's face, and practically yelled, "Do you understand me!?"

Gasping, shaking in fear, Ryan instinctively nodded, hoping for a reprieve from the yelling, the pain, and the hands. Instead, the man continued to speak, still so angry.

"Look, kid, I don't know what in the Hell is going on with you, but you've been badly injured, and we're trying to help you. We can't do that if you keep fighting us, so you've gotta let us do our jobs. Okay?"

Still not opening his eyes, Ryan struggled with the two halves of his brain. The practical one, as always, told him to submit, do what he was told, minimize the damage, and hide away. The other part, the angry, scared part, insisted that he couldn't just volunteer for more pain. If he did what they said, he'd be giving them permission to hurt him, and he couldn't stand the thought of being so weak.

Before he had a chance to respond, the hands on his shoulders began to mercifully lift.

"Okay, I think that we have an understanding," said the not-so-angry voice. Now it sounded smug. Smug is bad. Smug means control, power.

Trying one more time to slip away, Ryan dejectedly realized that he was in too much pain. It wasn't going to happen. He was on his own. He couldn't just hide until it was over. That ship has sailed, my friends. Time for another tactic.

Do something. Placate. Promise. Anything. Just try to put it off.

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Shakily, so quietly that the doctor almost missed it, Ryan whispered, "I'm sorry."

The doctor was shocked into silence. Thirty seconds ago, this kid had almost succeeded in pulling himself free of the restraints. They had actually begun to tear. That should be impossible. They were supposed to be able to withstand the force of a PCP crazed lunatic, and this small, slight teen had almost broken free. The restraints on the left hand and the lap belt had begun to tear. The doctor had no idea what was going on with this kid, but it was something that he was fairly certain he would be better off not knowing. Now, mere seconds after pulling like a wild animal, the teen seemed meek and submissive. He was almost…broken. God, it hurt Jeffries' heart to think of what this kid had been through, and he hated that he had been a party to further traumatizing the boy.

Dr. Jeffries leaned in closer, intending to reassure Ryan that he was going to be okay, but he had apparently made the wrong move.

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Ryan had hoped that the smug, angry man would leave him alone, but he had been wrong. Of course he'd been wrong.

Since when did things go right for an Atwood? We're all doomed to suffer. We're paying for the sins of our ancestors, or something.

It's the most logical among pointless explanations.

As the angry/smug man leaned in, Ryan flinched, and then he panicked. It's a bad idea to show fear, because then you give more power. People have more fun if they know you're afraid. If you just don't show the fear, they usually get bored sooner, and they'll leave you alone. Not smart to show fear.

Quickly, Ryan forced himself to still, making his face impassive.

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Dr. Jeffries was startled by the boy's reaction. He had intended to utter some calming, reassuring words (just exactly what those were to be, he had no idea yet, but he was sure that he would have been able to come up with something appropriate), but Ryan had flinched as he leaned near. It took only an instant before the boy's face had suddenly changed into an emptiness that was very eerie. Ryan had suddenly become very still, and his breathing had slowed. To a casual observer, Ryan would look calm and reserved. But Jeffries was no casual observer. He was an ER doc, trained in spotting physical signs of shock, and this kid was definitely **not** calm. His face gave that impression, but his body betrayed his true emotions. He was sweating profusely, and Jeffries could see that every muscle in Ryan's body was trembling. They were straining, barely held in check.

God.

This kid was beyond terrified.

He did the only kind thing that he could.

He backed up.

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__

It worked. The man just backed away. Don't know why, but don't really care right now. At least he backed off. He was way too close to me.

Ryan took a slow, quivering breath, and he gasped as his ribs reminded him of their presence. He was starting to wonder how he'd been hurt, and where he was, when the man spoke again.

"Andrew, let him go. He'll be fine," the voice said, and Ryan felt the hands on his feet let him go. He noticed that the voice didn't sound smug anymore, and the anger hadn't returned. If Ryan hadn't known better, he'd have thought that the man sounded concerned, but that didn't make any sense. He had Ryan right where he wanted him; why would he be concerned?   
  
Ryan didn't have the time to wonder about that right now.

The hands were still on his waist, and those…they had to go. Willing himself to risk it, Ryan spoke again.   
  
"Please," he whispered tentatively. "Please untie me."  
  
_I'll be good._ Ryan thought desperately. He wanted to say more, but he had already risked enough just by speaking at all. It wasn't his everyday method of coping, but this wasn't an everyday situation. It may have happened often, but it still wasn't everyday.

What he wanted to say coursed through his mind, over and over, a silent plea.

I can stand whatever you do to me, just don't tie me down. Oh, God, I can't take being tied down. Please.

Not surprisingly, the hands on Ryan's waist didn't comply. Taking a risk, Ryan looked at the man who had been speaking to him. Silently pleading, he made eye contact.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jeffries was surprised to find the kid actually looking at him. It seemed to be accomplished through sheer force of will, and he admired this kid for his unbelievable mental strength. There was obviously a lot going on, and yet this kid had not shattered. He seemed to have broken, but there was still quite a bit of strength left in that boy. Looking into his eyes, he saw what the boy was asking for.

Unfortunately, he could not comply.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sighing sadly, Ryan looked down when he realized that his attempt would be pointless. This man wasn't going to let him go.

The wild panic threatened to return, as Ryan's head began to fill with a buzzing. He couldn't concentrate around it, and--within seconds--it threatened to overwhelm him.

The voice was saying something about "your own good," but Ryan didn't like that phrase. It was never followed by anything pleasant, and it was usually terrible. Aside from that, it was really hard to hear anyone now. The buzzing was loud, and he was starting to feel thick and heavy.

The hands on his waist finally released him, but he was still unable to relax, because he was still vulnerable, at their mercy, because he was still tied down. Then a miracle happened!

The hands began to unbuckle his waist strap! Thinking he would be freed, Ryan fought the buzzing, and he started to try to sit up, but more hands grabbed his shoulders again, pushing him back down.

Confused, Ryan looked at the hands on his waist, as they began to lift his shirt.

__

Nononononononononononononononono, Ryan silently moaned. Not again. Not again. The hands were touching his bare skin now, on his stomach, baring his chest for all to see, and he couldn't take it, couldn't take it, and then they reached for his pants. They began to unbutton his jeans, and he couldn't stand it anymore, and the buzzing was so loud now, and he heard a low keening alongside it, and he realized that that noise was his own, and the buzzing was deafening, and he felt so thick and heavy, and he wanted so desperately to slip off into his mind, but he couldn't do it.

His jeans were unzipped, and hands grabbed his hips and lifted him, as more hands pulled his jeans down to his ankles.

Frantically, Ryan began to pray.

__

God, please, please, not again. Not this time. I swear that I'll try to be good, I'll do what I can to keep your commandments and help others, but please, don't let it happen to me this time. Please, not this time. Please.

Suddenly, the buzzing stopped, and Ryan was able to hear the voice, right near his ear, speaking frantically, but it seemed soothing. Ryan tried hard to focus, and he noticed that all hands had removed themselves from him. He was still bare, open, exposed, but there were no hands. The waist strap had not been replaced, and there were no hands. Mercifully, no hands.

The voice seemed desperate for Ryan to listen, so he tried.

"Ryan, please, hear me. I swear that you're going to be okay. No one here wants to hurt you. We all want to help you. You've been hurt, Ryan, can you remember that?"

__

Hurt? I do hurt. How did I get hurt? I can't remember.

Ryan slowly shook his head, glancing sideways at the man who had been speaking to him, afraid to make complete eye contact again. Hoping that he would let Ryan go, or at least explain what was going on.

"Ryan, you're in the hospital. We're just trying to assess your injuries. You've been fighting us so hard, but we only want to help you. Please, Ryan, please let us check you out. I swear to you that no one wants to hurt you. Please, Ryan, just let us examine you, okay? We'll make the hurt less."  
  
_Hospital. _Suddenly, a lot of things began to make sense. Not everything, but a lot. Logically, Ryan now understood why the hands had begun to remove his clothing, but the thought still made him shiver, and he was aware that his stomach was again threatening to rebel.

__

I've never liked hospitals. They're too risky. It's so hard to keep up with all the lies, and there are just so many hands, and everyone wants to touch, and they all feel like they have the right. It's the same thing. More strangers insisting that they have the right to touch, and I'm supposed to let them. God, please help me. What do I do?

At exactly the right time, the voice--Ryan figured that he was probably a doctor--spoke again.

"Ryan, I'll make this as quick as possible, and then we'll see about getting those restraints off, okay?"  
  
Glancing quickly at the man's face, Ryan made a decision. Sighing, he closed his eyes and nodded at the doctor, giving his consent.

__

I should've just done this at the start. I know this is the way. Let them do what they want, and it ends sooner.

The reasons didn't matter. The end result was still the same.

Ryan had given in.

Again.

****

Author's Note: Thank you, again, for all the kind reviews. You've convinced me that I made the right choice when I decided to crawl out from under my rock, stop lurking, and start writing.

I promise that you will soon get a Cohen POV on the whole cop fiasco. It just wasn't time yet.


	6. Permission to Hurt

DISCLAIMER: While I do, finally, own some original characters, I own no one that has been seen on Fox's spectacular show, "The O.C." While I cannot name who does own them, I can say that it is definitely not myself, nor any of my family, as our lifestyles can prove. Please don't sue. I have nothing to give.

Chapter 6

Permission to Hurt

Sandy gripped the steering wheel in frustration and barely concealed anger. "I _told_ you, officer; we're on our way to the _hospital!_ My son's been injured!"

Unimpressed, Officer Harris simply gazed back at the distraught man in the driver's seat. "And I told _you,_ Mr. Cohen, that reckless driving is _still_ a ticketable offense. What good will it do your son if you are injured in an accident on the way to the hospital?"

Sandy closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest, and groaned disgustedly.

Jumping in before her husband's impulsive nature could get them into further trouble, Kirsten placed a calming hand on Sandy's shoulder. She leaned over to the window and smiled sweetly at the officer.

"We're very sorry, officer. You're completely right. We should be more careful. Especially with our other son in the car."

At that, Seth leaned forward to speak, but both Kirsten and Sandy spun quickly to glare him into silence. The last thing they needed was a second Cohen man mouthing off to a police officer. What they needed was to get their ticket and head for the hospital.

Mumbling something about "parental injustice and gross disregard for a person's right to free speech," Seth sat back glumly, crossing his arms on his chest and glaring at the back of his dad's seat.

Kirsten kept her hand on Sandy's shoulder, and she tightened it, almost imperceptibly, when he took in another breath to complain, again. He turned to look at his wife, opening his mouth to defend himself, but she shot him a glare that was worthy of Ryan Atwood, and he thought better of speaking at the moment.

Losing no time at all, Kirsten turned her smile back on, as she spoke sweetly to the officer. "We're _so_ grateful to you, officer, for reminding us to stay safe. We wouldn't know what to do if we had caused an accident and injured someone. You really are an angel of mercy." Kirsten sounded so sincerely apologetic and grateful that Sandy wanted to puke. He hated capitulating to authority figures almost as much as Ryan did, and it pleased him to realize that there was another connection between himself and his new son. However, thinking about Ryan made him more anxious, and he fidgeted in his seat, desperate to be underway.

"Well, ma'am, I hope you folks have learned your lesson. Vehicles are a privilege, not a responsibility," Officer Harris said condescendingly, slowly ripping the ticket off of the pad and handing it to Sandy. "I hope all is well with your other son," he said, as he turned and walked back to his car.

All three of the Cohens waited in silence, until the officer had climbed back aboard his motorcycle and driven away.

"Dad?" Seth broke the stillness. "So, are we gonna sit here forever, or should we maybe head to the hospital? Since you sent the paramedics and all, that's probably where he's going to be."

"Seth!" both of his parents yelled, as Sandy started the car and eased back onto the road. Neither Kirsten nor Sandy could take any more of Seth's needling. They had known that he wouldn't like the decision to call the police and have them meet Ryan at the Crab Shack, but they also knew that the police could arrive sooner than they would have been able to. If the attacker was still anywhere around, or if Ryan was seriously injured, then the police would prove to be necessary. Besides, along with the police came the paramedics, and Kirsten wanted Ryan to get medical treatment as quickly as possible.

Knowing that he had just crossed the line of his parents' tolerance, Seth sighed exaggeratedly, grumbling about sickly sweet come-ons to the cops and badly-made parental decisions.

Kirsten almost defended herself to her son, but decided that she just didn't have the energy right now. It was late, she was tired, and she had no idea what to expect at the hospital. They still didn't know all that much about Ryan. He'd only been a part of their family for a short time, and he was still an enigma. It was hard to know how to read the boy. Kirsten knew that his former life had been filled with pain and uncertainty, and she ached to make that better. Sandy had suggested a few times that Kirsten read Ryan's file from Child Protective Services (CPS), but she had not yet had the courage. She tried to rationalize this by saying that Ryan would tell her the details when he was ready, and that it would be a betrayal of his trust if she snooped and found out the truth from a file. However, she knew that this was not the actual reason. She had not yet read the files because she was scared. She was scared to know how broken this boy truly was. She could see it and know it, but until she read it, in black and white, on legal court documents, with hospital reports and signed witness statements, she could pretend that it didn't really exist. Once she read that file, she would know it, really _know_ it, and then she would have no idea how to help Ryan.

Not that she really felt like she was any help to Ryan right now, but at least she could think that she _might_ be of some help. When she knew the details, she would know that she _couldn't_ help, and that scared her.

She had been the one to insist on calling the police. Sandy had argued at first, as had Seth, but her husband had quickly given in, admitting that there were likely to be medical issues that should be treated as soon as possible. Sandy knew that Ryan had a legitimate and well-earned distrust of cops, and that he would not react well to their presence and authority, but he was too worried for Ryan's physical safety to be overly concerned with Ryan's emotional state. He had agreed to call the police.

Seth had been enraged. He had yelled to his parents that they were betraying Ryan's trust in Seth, and in themselves, but he had no control over the parental units. They would do what they decided to do, and they barely listened to Seth's arguments.

Ryan had sounded truly odd on the phone. When Ryan had said that he hadn't known his attacker, Seth had gotten the impression that Ryan was lying. Seth couldn't be sure why he thought this; since Ryan didn't exactly talk much, it was a lot easier to read his body language than his vocal inflections, but Seth still felt like Ryan knew the guy. That's why he'd been convinced that Luke and his water polo buddies had been the ones to beat up Ryan.

That was another thing! Ryan was totally self-sufficient, and he hated to rely on anyone or ask for assistance. If Ryan was calling for help, _and_ asking to go to the_ hospital_, then he had to be desperate. Seth knew that Ryan had his bike with him, and he had to be really hurt in order to decide that he couldn't get to the hospital on his own. Seth felt like Ryan had actually reached out and asked for help, but Seth was letting him down. Maybe he shouldn't have insisted on telling the parentals about the phone call . Maybe he should've just gone down to the Crab Shack, picked Ryan up, and called his parents from the hospital. Why hadn't he done that? Oh, yeah. He'd been scared, that's why. Seth had been too scared to handle this by himself, and he'd let Ryan down. Ryan had taken care of Seth since the first day, and Seth had finally had a chance to take care of Ryan, and he'd been too much of a wuss to do what needed to be done.

Seth couldn't wait to get to the hospital and apologize to Ryan.

Sighing in frustration, Seth turned to look out the window as Sandy took off down the road. They were only minutes from the hospital, and they were all eager to get there. The idea had been to swing by the Crab Shack first, hoping to catch Ryan and the cops there, and then head for the hospital if they had already moved on. Well, it would obviously be pointless to stop by the Crab Shack now. Officer Harris had taken up a precious seventeen minutes of their evening, and Ryan had been alone with the police for most of that time. Ryan didn't enjoy police.

I just hope Ryan wasn't too…well, Ryan _when the cops showed up. It doesn't take a psychologist to know that Ryan has a deep mistrust of anyone in authority, and Ryan tends to act first and think later. Well, not always. He thinks a lot, and acts little. Well, that's not true either. Wait. Now I'm confused. Well, no matter how Ryan reacts in which situation, which I've apparently still got to learn, it's pretty certain that Ryan's not had a good evening. Which is why we've got to get there soon, so we can help._

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In the Emergency Room, Ryan was still strapped to a bed, and hands were still touching him. At least he was having some success in controlling his flight instincts, and it helped that everyone seemed to be trying to touch him as little as possible, but he still hated this entire process.

"So," the doctor continued, as he finished feeling Ryan's limbs for broken bones. "Do you remember just how you got all of these injuries?"

Still trembling, Ryan quietly and slowly nodded his head. He couldn't help but think about all of the other times that he'd been asked that question in an ER., and that the answer was almost always the same. Answer with as plausible a lie as you can. He'd heard a quote somewhere that he thought really fit well into his life: "The most convincing lie is hidden between two truths." Like when he'd told Seth why he needed help. Tell the truth, but leave out the important details.

"Mugged," he said quietly, hoping that the doctor would leave it at that, but not expecting him to.

Jeffries nodded silently, already knowing the answer. The police had told the ER personnel all of the pertinent information about Ryan when they brought him in, and they knew that he'd been attacked during a mugging. _That_ wasn't in question. What everyone wanted to know was why he'd reacted so badly to the police presence. While Ryan had still been out of it, just after arriving at the hospital, Jeffries had asked the paramedics why they hadn't sedated the kid in the rig. They had responded that they had just gotten him onto the gurney and strapped in when he seemed to pass out. They agreed that he'd needed something while he'd been flailing with the cops, but the need had no longer existed, once they were finally in a position to give it. 

"Do you know who it was?" he asked Ryan, not really expecting a response.

Ryan simply shrugged. He missed not knowing how and why he was hurt.

Ryan had known that his beautiful lack of memory was only temporary. It would all come back to him soon. Ryan had freaked out like this before, and he always had trouble remembering the previous events when he came to. It never lasted, no matter how much Ryan wanted it to. Sooner or later, Ryan would always have to remember, and that was never good.

Not remembering was more peaceful.

"Well," Dr. Jeffries said, as he stepped up to the head of the head of the bed, you don't seem to have any broken limbs. I do think that you've got a few broken ribs, though. Is it all right with you if I just check it out? I'll be as quick and as gentle as I can be." Dr. Jeffries still didn't really understand this kid, but it was painfully obvious that he hated to be touched. And, he was still terrified. He tried to hide it, but the kid was still trembling with fear.

Sometimes, I really hate this job, he thought to himself.

Receiving no answer from the wounded boy, Dr. Jeffries tried again. "Kid? How 'bout it? Can I check out your ribs for broken bones?"

"No need," he answered quietly. "They're broken. Three."   
  
Sickened at this boy's knowledge, Dr. Jeffries sighed. "I've no doubt that you know what you're talking about, but I'm the doctor. I've still got to check you out. Okay?"

Ryan really, _really_ wanted to deny this request, but he'd already submitted. Why did the guy keep asking his permission? Didn't he understand how difficult it was to comply? Asking for his permission, over and over, was just adding insult to injury, quite literally. 

Closing his eyes again, Ryan simply nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he tensed up even further, preparing himself for the inevitable pain and invasion.

The doctor's cool hands started to feel down Ryan's chest. He winced and hissed in pain a few times, as the doctor pressed lightly on the few cracks, and his body stiffened to a painful degree as the doctor's hands began to move to the lower half of his chest.

Sensing his patient's increasing distress, Dr. Jeffries struggled to distract the boy. "So, you're name's Ryan, right? And you're sixteen? What were you doing when you got mugged?"

Receiving no answer, Dr. Jeffries hurried as quickly as possible to finish his physical examination, and tried another question. "So, do you have anybody we can call? Family? Friends? It's gotta stink to be here alone."  
  
Without opening his eyes, Ryan simply shook his head, once to the left, and once to the right.

Who could he call? The Cohens have abandoned me, my mom kicked me out, Trey and Dad are in jail…There's no on. No one. I'm alone again.

"Okay," Dr. Jeffries' voice interrupted his thoughts. "You were right; you've got about three broken ribs. I don't think they're too bad, but we should get them x-rayed, just in case. You've got some serious bruising on your stomach, chest, legs, face, head, and…do you want to know your condition.?"  
  
Ryan shrugged, a very small movement of his shoulders that still caused him to wince at a slight twinge of pain in his ribs.

Running a hand through his hair, Jeffries gazed down at this terrified boy. He still strained against his bonds, even though he was no longer actively fighting them. He shook with fear, and he was so pale. Jeffries knew that he could sedate the kid, but he wasn't fighting them anymore, and sedation just seemed like adding one more problem to many.

"Okay, so, in addition to the broken ribs and bruising on your…well, pretty much your entire body, you've also got a mild concussion. That, and your panicked state when you came in, were probably the cause of your memory loss earlier." If Jeffries had expected a response to this, he was disappointed.

"We're pretty sure that you've got a bruised kidney, which is better than a lacerated one, but we have to wait for lab results to come back. With a bruised kidney, you'll most likely have some continued pain for about a week or so, depending on the severity of the internal bruising, and there will be some back spasms…"

He was cut off by Ryan's quiet, "Yeah. I know."

Surprised that the kid had actually spoken, he waited for Ryan to continue. He should have known better.

"Okay, well, the lacerations on your forehead, cheek , and ear are pretty minor. They won't feel good, but they also won't cause any troubles. The worst part right now is that serious gash in your chin. You've pretty much sliced it open, Ryan, and it's clear to the bone."  
  
At this, Ryan's eyes snapped open, and he looked at the doctor, without moving his head.

"What? Ryan?" When he received no answer, but Ryan continued to stare at him, Jeffries--unnerved at this unwavering and intense stare--cleared his throat and continued. "We're going to have to clean it out, and then stitch it up. We'll numb it up first, but it's gonna hurt, Ryan. Are you ready for that?"

"Are you gonna untie me?" His eyes never left the doctor's, while his face was still turned slightly away.

"I can't yet, Ryan."  
  
"Why not. Don't you make the rules?" It wasn't so much a question, as it was an accusation.

"No, Ryan, I don't make the rules. If I did, you'd never have been tied down in the first place. But I didn't tie you down, and I can't untie you until we can be sure that you're not going to hurt yourself or others, and that won't be decided by us."  
  
"Psych," Ryan whispered, finally looking away. He now stared blankly at his feet.

"Yeah," Dr. Jeffries responded, surprised--yet again--by this boy's intricate knowledge of things that no sixteen year old should understand. "They've gotta come down and check you out."  
  
"Think I'll be put on a hold?" Ryan asked.

Jeffries noticed that Ryan's trembling had begun to lessen in the last few moments, and at least he was communicating with him now. Jeffries had no idea how long this communication would last, but he'd take it as a good sign, and he'd certainly try to keep it going for as long as possible.

"I can't tell you, Ryan, but I think that you're doing a good job of holding it together right now. If you can just calm down a little more, and try get that shaking under control, then I think that you might just convince that arrogant, closed-minded geek from psych that you just need to get out of the hospital."  
  
Surprised at this support, Ryan turned his whole head to look at the doctor. Not voicing his question, he still managed to convey his meaning.

Grinning slightly, Jeffries nodded his head. "Yep. I want you out of here. I don't think you need psych. You're in a bad way, but you do better when you're not restrained. I understand that. It's kinda obvious. You're doin' okay, Ryan, we just need to calm you down a little more, and then the gigantic ego of a psych resident can come in here and declare you to be a normal teenager who was just mugged, okay?"  
  
Ryan almost smiled, but stopped himself. He remembered that he still had to be stitched up before he could go anywhere, and they were going to do it while he was tied up. He had to try, one more time.

"Could, um, could we please just wait to stitch up my chin until after the psych consult?"  
  
Jeffries just waited, figuring Ryan might say more if he got no response.

"It's just, like you said, I do better when I'm not tied up. I can take anything, as long as I'm not tied up." Not seeing the response he wanted in the doctor's eyes, he continued, sickened at the realization that he was begging, again, but unable to stop himself, desperate as he was to prevent this from happening. "Please, please, just let me be untied while you clean and stitch me, please. Let's wait, or tell the psych guy to wait, and then stitch me, and then let him see me. You can tie me down again after you finish. Please, please…" Ryan trailed off as he realized that Jeffries was unwavering.

Softly, Jeffries began explaining his inability to comply. "Ryan, it could still be hours before the guy from psych comes down, and we can't wait that long to treat the wound. We need to clean it as soon as possible, in order to prevent infection, and then we need to stitch it up, before the nerves die. We want to minimize scarring and facial paralysis. It's got to be done, and the sooner the better. As for making psych wait, I have no control over when they come and go--obviously--so I can't just undo your restraints and then put them back on again. I may not always believe in hospital regulations, but I do have to follow them. Ryan? I'm sorry, but it's just not a possibility, okay?

Defeatedly, Ryan closed his eyes and sighed, trying to calm the tremors that coursed through his every muscle. He had begun to relax around this doctor for a few minutes, but he was nowhere near relaxed anymore. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't know if he could handle it even if he wasn't restrained, but he was restrained, and he was going to have to do this.

"Fine. Just get it over with, okay?" he said quietly, giving in again.

Hating himself and his job just a little bit more, Dr. Jeffries turned to take the suture kit and the cleaning supplies from his nurse. The task of cleaning the wound was often left to a nurse, but Jeffries had decided that he was going to do as much as possible to help this kid, and he felt that Ryan responded fairly well to him. He didn't want to just hand him over to someone else. He'd do this all himself.

Sighing, he pulled his stool over to the head of Ryan's bed, and settled in next to him. Ryan still had his eyes closed, his jaw tensed, and his fists clenched.

Jeffries started to reach out to pull the pillow from behind Ryan's head and position his head more appropriately on the bed, but he caught himself just in time. He didn't think that Ryan would respond well to the sudden touch and action.

"Ryan," he said, "we need to get you lying flat here, okay? We need to take the pillow away, all right?"   
  
_STOP ASKING MY PERMISSION TO HURT ME!_ Ryan wanted to scream. Instead, he nodded meekly, raising his head slightly, so as to provide the doctor with access to the pillow. Jeffries removed the pillow, and he positioned the head lamp so that it shone directly on Ryan's chin.

Ryan felt the heat from the lamp almost immediately, and the light still hurt his head. He felt like he was about to throw up, but he breathed through the nausea and pain for a moment, until the lamp's brightness seemed to lessen a little.

Sensing Ryan's pain, Jeffries waited a moment, watching as the boy fought the nausea.

When he'd gotten past that first bout, Jeffries said, "Sorry about the bright light. I forgot about your concussion. That's gonna be an issue for a little while. I'll try to get this done as soon as possible. If you feel like you need to throw up, just let us know, and we'll get an emesis basin to you before you know it, okay?"  
  
When Ryan nodded shakily, Dr. Jeffries slipped back into his comfortable, I'm-in-control-and-this-is-all-routine ER doctor mode. Some things just happen, without us thinking about them.

"Okay, Ryan, this is my faithful friend, Sheila, and she's the best R.N. there is. She's gonna be helping me take care of this chin, okay?"

Ryan opened his eyes slightly to glance at the nurse on his left. She, too, had pulled stool up to the bed, and she was looking down at Ryan with a slight smile. "That's right," she said sweetly, "I'm the best. You're so lucky, Ryan, to have the two best medical professionals available to help you. Dr. Jeffries here has done this many times, and he knows what he's doing. Don't you worry, Sweetie, we'll take good care of you."

Ryan's breath was now coming in shaky gasps, and he closed his eyes again. He didn't want to watch.

"Okay," resumed Dr. Jeffries, "the first thing we need to do is clean up this nasty cut on your chin. We're going to be as gentle as possible, but there's going to be some pain. We just need you to try to remember that we don't want to hurt you, okay? We're just trying to help you. We'll get this over with as soon as possible. Do you understand?"  
  
Ryan nodded shakily, unable to trust his voice.

Jeffries looked over at Sheila, whose grim expression matched his own. They both knew that this kid had suffered enough already, and neither one of them wanted to hurt him anymore. Unfortunately, that was exactly what they were about to do.

Sheila handed the antiseptic sponge to Dr. Jeffries, without taking her eyes off of the young boy, who seemed to be younger by the second.

Dr. Jeffries took the sponge by its white, plastic handle, and dipped it into the antiseptic. "Okay, Ryan, here we go," he stated, as he reached out and touched the sponge to Ryan's sliced chin.

The sponge had barely made contact when Ryan bucked in agony, groaning through his clenched jaw.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Acid burned through Ryan's face, pure fire searing straight through to the bone. Reacting without thought, Ryan struggled to get away, but he couldn't because he was still tied down, and _God_ it hurt, so bad, what could he do to stop it? He was still reeling from the torture being applied to his chin when more hands touched him, pushing him down, keeping him there for the pain, and he struggled to prevent a scream.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Instinctively, Sheila had reached out to bring Ryan's chest back down to the bed, while Jeffries pulled the sponge away from the tortured flesh. At Sheila's touch, Ryan jerked, attempting to get away, wrenching at the restraints. Sheila instantly pulled her hands off of Ryan, and she began to use her best mom-tone to soothe the tortured child.

When Ryan didn't respond, but continued to pull at his bonds, Dr. Jeffries became worried, and he started to try to explain the situation to Ryan. "Ryan! Ryan, listen to me!" he yelled, hoping to get through, even though the tightly clenched eyes and body told him that it was unlikely. "You've _got_ to try to calm down. This isn't going to look good to the psych resident, please, Ryan, just breathe. Breathe, just breathe. That's it," he soothed, as Ryan began to calm down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the pain eased from a sharp fire to a throbbing ache, Ryan became aware again of Dr. Jeffries and Sheila, and knew that the whole process had only just begun. He was struggling so hard to maintain control, praying that the psych consult would arrive soon, or that he would just pass out, or--yep, dying would be preferable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, Ryan, that's it," Jeffries continued. "Good job, kid, you're doing okay. I know that hurts. It's the alcohol, clearing out the infection that already exists in there. Germs multiply fast, and they don't like to be killed. They fight hard to defend themselves, and they cause pain as they fight back. I'm sorry, but you've got some gravel and what looks to be beach sand in there. It's not gonna come out too easily, but it has to be taken care of before we can stitch."

"Please," Ryan whispered shakily, "can't you numb it up a little? I thought you said you were going to?"  
  
Sheila interrupted, before Jeffries could answer. This boy's torment was hard for her to bear, and she just had to comfort him, at least as much as was possible, given the circumstances. "Oh, Sweetie, we did. Unfortunately, nothing can really help the pain deep inside. The topical really doesn't do much, but it does help some, I swear to you."  
  
Ryan didn't believe her. She was lying. They had _not_ numbed up his chin at all. He knew it. He would have noticed.

Opening his eyes, gritting his teeth, he turned to Dr. Jeffries and demanded, "You lie. When did you numb up my chin?"  
  
Not surprised that he couldn't remember being numbed, Dr. Jeffries tried to explain. "Ryan, when we first positioned you and the headlamp, do you remember a first rush of heat and nausea? That was only partly from the lamp. We applied the topical analgesic at the same time, using the lamp as a distraction, so that you wouldn't feel the pain of the application so strongly. I'm sorry that you thought we'd torture you unnecessarily. I should've thought to explain, afterwards. I promise that I won't do anything more without explaining it first, all right?"  
  
Resigned, Ryan squeezed his eyes tightly shut, clenched his body so tightly that you could've bounced a quarter off of it, and gritted his teeth.

Dipping the sponge back into the antiseptic, Dr. Jeffries continued to explain his next actions. "Okay, Ryan, we're going to reapply the antiseptic. It's going to burn just as badly this time, but I need you to try to stay as still as you can, and take it for as long as you can. Okay?"  
  
Ryan nodded tersely.

Dr. Jeffries gently reapplied the sponge to Ryan's chin.

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_Oh, GOD, it's so intense! The fire just sears its way straight through to the bone, it's inside my skull, it's burning my whole face, uuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh, howmuchlongerhowmuchlonger, it's too much!_

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Ryan screamed, a sound so filled with pain and despair that Sheila suddenly felt like _she_ needed to throw up.

At that moment, Kirsten burst into the room.

"Ryan!" she yelled, racing across the cluttered space, shoving trays and supplies out of her path, as she homed in on her son…the realization almost stopped her, but only a small portion of the brain actually registered it, while the rest kept her driving towards the tortured boy on the bed. _Wow. I don't know how or when it happened, but apparently, I consider him mine. Good._

She shoved both the doctor and the nurse out of her way, pulling the hateful orange sponge on the plastic white stick off of Ryan's face and out of the doctor's hand and flinging it to the ground in disgust.

"Ryan," she called gently, placing her hands on his cheeks, trying to bring his focus onto her. "Ryan, it's okay, we're here now. We're all her. Sandy and Seth and I. We're here. We're so sorry that you're in pain, but we're here, and we won't leave you. We're here with you, and we're staying with you. Please, Honey, shh, just open your eyes and look at me, I'm right here. That's it, Ryan, breathe. Good, Honey, good. Shh."  
  
It worked. Kirsten's soothing touch and voice were bringing Ryan back to reality, the searing pain resuming its previous dull ache, and he finally managed to open his eyes and see her.

He was met with a teary grin, her hair slightly out of place. "Kirsten?" he asked shakily.

"Yes, Sweetie, it's Kirsten. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're so sorry we weren't here earlier. We were racing to the hospital, and Sandy--" she shot her contrite husband a glare-- "almost got us arrested for mouthing off to an officer, but we're here now Honey, and we're not leaving you. You're not alone. We'll help you through this."

Suddenly ashamed, Ryan looked away. He'd thought they'd abandoned him. They hadn't, though. They were here. But…why hadn't they come to get him themselves?

"Excuse me," Dr. Jeffries began, but he was met with such an intense glare from Kirsten that he decided that he should step back for a moment. A few seconds couldn't hurt, and this woman obviously had a calming effect on Ryan. Jeffries was just glad that Ryan had someone to help him through this. It was really going to be quite a painful process, and it would help to have a mother's support. He didn't think that this woman was Ryan's mother, but she'd do the job. He just wondered why Ryan had said he had no one to call. These people obviously loved Ryan very much. They were all clearly distraught over his pain and injuries.

"Kirsten," Ryan began, "Y-you didn't abandon me?" he asked in a small voice.

The tears finally falling, Kirsten cried, "Oh, Honey, no! No, we didn't abandon you. We couldn't, Sweetheart. You're ours. Don't you know that yet? You're ours. We're not letting you go."  
  
Noticing the doctor again, she spun around. "YOU!" she called out. "Tell me what's going on with my son."

Ryan may have been in a lot of pain, but he didn't miss that. She'd called him her son. Did they really want him?

Ryan was too busy thinking about the possible ramifications of Kirsten's most recent revelation to listen to the doctor describe his injuries to the Cohens. He'd heard it all before, anyway.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Kirsten's tone change to indignant and demanding. "I don't care _what_ your regulations require, you _will _release my son from these restraints, _right_ now, or you will _regret _it in the morning. My father, Caleb Nichols, is a major benefactor of this hospital, and he will be very interested to know how his grandson has been treated--"

Ryan's plea cut her off instantly. "Kirsten, stop. Please. It's okay. Dr. Jeffries has been really great. He's…" Ryan was suddenly too exhausted to finish.

Kirsten relented, a bit, but she was still determined to remove the restraints. Seeing that the doctor was not going to do it, she began to do it herself.

Ryan watched in disbelief as the right wrist cuff was released, and he could suddenly move his whole arm. Lifting it to his head, he ran his hand through his hair, fighting the rapidly increasing urge to tear himself out of the bed and out of the room as quickly as possible. Just like always, the claustrophobia and terror increased as he was being released. It didn't make much sense, but that's the way it always was. Ryan thought that it had something to do with the taste of freedom, and the fear that he would lose it when it was so near his grasp.

Against the doctor's requests, Kirsten had already removed the second wrist cuff, and Sandy and Seth had each removed an ankle cuff. Ryan, suddenly free to move, had thought that he'd need to get up and out of that bed as quickly as possible, but that isn't what happened. Maybe it was the fact that the Cohens were with him, and that they hadn't abandoned him after all, or maybe it was the knowledge that Kirsten really seemed to feel like he was her son, or maybe it was just an overwhelming relief at being free, but Ryan simply had nothing more to give. He curled up on his side, facing Kirsten, and broke into quiet sobs.

Kirsten wasted no time in positioning herself on the bed and gathering the crying boy into her arms. She began to whisper soothing assurances, as she rocked him slightly, with his head in her lap.

Sandy stood back, watching his wife comfort their new son. She'd been so reluctant and nervous at first, uncertain about the wisdom of taking in a stranger and making him family, but she'd obviously overcome her initial reluctance. As Sandy watched, Kirsten pulled Ryan even closer to her, holding and rocking him as he shook with his sobs. She leaned down to where Ryan had his head in her lap, and her hair fell like a curtain, shielding Ryan and Kirsten from the rest of the world. Sandy stared in awe, at his beautiful wife and their second son, and fell in love with her all over again.

Kirsten continued to murmur quiet assurances until Ryan began to calm down. Remembering that Ryan had at least three fractured ribs, she began to maneuver Ryan into a straight position again.

Complying, Ryan sniffed, trying to hide his tear-streaked face. _Never show a weakness,_ Sandy sympathized.

Staring at the restraints which were still attached to the bed, Ryan tried to shrink up into the middle. He took as a deep a breath as his ribs would allow, and whispered something to Kirsten. Unable to hear him, she leaned in closer, and he repeated it, this time a little louder.   
  
"Thanks for untying me. It's okay. You can go ahead and tie me back down, again. I'm ready now."  
  
Honey, NO!" cried Kirsten, causing Ryan to flinch instinctively. Pulling him closer to her, positioning herself in the bed, right next to him, Kirsten tried to reassure him. "No one is tying you up again, Ryan. That's over I'm sorry--we're sorry--that we weren't here earlier, and that this happened at all, but no one is putting these restraints back on you, ever. Do you hear me?" Getting no real response from Ryan, Kirsten turned to look at her husband and first son, the command clear in her eyes. Instantly, both Cohen men jumped to obey, each grabbing an ankle restraint and beginning to remove it from the bed. Kirsten moved to do the same with the wrist cuffs, but Ryan seemed unwilling to part with her, so she left the cuffs for her husband and Seth.

Just then, Dr. Jeffries reentered the room. Kirsten was surprised to realize that she had not even noticed that he had gone.

She tightened her grip on Ryan, who had tensed up considerably at the doctor's presence, and she glared up at him, silently daring him to insist that those hateful restraints be returned to Ryan's wrists.

Instead of discussing the restraints, the doctor moved straight to the injury.

Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, as you can see, Ryan's chin still needs to be cleaned. I'm glad you are here, because this is an incredibly excruciating process, and it is so much more helpful if the patient has a loved one to help him through it. Will one of you stay?"   
  
As the doctor mentioned the cleaning process, Ryan actually moaned quietly. Kirsten felt his shaking increase, and his breathing quickened. Not relaxing her tight grip, she said, firmly, "I'm staying."   
  
Sandy said, "Me, too," as he moved to Ryan's other side and grasped his hand.  
  
"Uh, guys?" Seth called, from where he was standing at the foot of the bed. 

"Yes?" his parents replied, simultaneously.

"Uh, you know, Ryan, I love ya man, and all, but ahem, you know, blood, orange sponges with gross antiseptic, doctors…you know I don't deal well with all this man. I'm glad to see you're okay and everything, and I just thought, you know, I think you'd do well to have some parental time, how does that sound?" Seth had begun edging towards the door. "I think that I'm just gonna go head for the snack machine, get you some sugar and useless fat and calories, how does that sound. Or maybe I could walk down to the nearest Starbucks, it's only, what seven, eight miles away? I can do that, no problem, bring you some coffee, be back in no time--"

Cutting off his babbling, Ryan actually smiled and said, "Seth, you're turning green. Get out, before you faint and we're both patients."

Seth was gone, out the door, just like that.

Dr. Jeffries smiled. This kid had a light at the end of his tunnel after all. What a relief!

"Okay," Jeffries began, "We really need to get to work on that chin."  
  
"Kirsten," Ryan began, clenching her hand tightly in his.

"Shh, Ryan, it's okay, Sandy and I are both here. We'll help you through this, okay?"

Sandy jumped in, still holding Ryan's other hand. "Don't worry, kiddo, we've gotcha. You're going nowhere, and neither are we. We'll stick with you, all the way."  
  
Ryan was shaking harder now, and he spoke so quietly that they both had to lean in to hear him. "I-I don't think that I can do this. I have to s-s-stay still, and I don't think I can. Even with the restraints, I couldn't stay still. Maybe you should just--:  
  
"Ryan, don't be silly," replied Kirsten. "We're here. We'll give you the strength you need. We know this hurts, and we'll be right here with you. You just hang on tightly to us, and squeeze our hands, and we'll make it. Okay, Sweetie?" Kirsten had been staring into Ryan's face as she spoke, hoping for some eye contact, but just happy that he hadn't physically turned away from them yet.

Everyone waited in silence for a few moments, as Ryan tried to calm himself. Finally, he said, "Okay," and pulled himself back down into the same position that he had been in before. _At least there are no restraints, this time. I can take anything, as long as I'm not tied down._

Kirsten and Sandy took their positions on either side of the bed, each taking one of his hands. Sheila took up a place directly behind the head of the bed, and Dr. Jeffries was back on his stool. Ryan, just as tensed as before, gritted his teeth, and waited.

"Okay, Ryan," said Sheila softly, "here we go, Sweetie."   
  
"Let's get those germs out of there, Ryan," said Dr. Jeffries with a sigh, and he picked up a new sponge, and dipped it into the antiseptic.

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Author's note: Sorry it took so long. I've been cursed with a severe case of perfectionism. I can't just write and post. I write, proofread, proofread, proofread, ad infinitum, and this took a while. I also had a LOT of trouble writing the Cohens, Seth in particular, since I'm not so good with the funny. I live in Ryan's head, and no one else's, so I have a lot of difficulty in writing the others.

Plus, it's 2:24 a.m., and I have to get up at 6:30 to go teach, so I just wanted to get this posted. I'm gonna proofread again tomorrow, and I may remove it and repost it, if I've embarrassed myself with any gross errors. I just really felt the need to post tonight.

Yes, I see doctor's visits and hospitals as places of torture. My mom's an R.N., so it's nothing against the medical professionals. I just don't enjoy needing a doctor or being treated by one.

**Thanks to Jenny (weumsel) for all of your support. I couldn't have done this without your nudging. :)**

I also owe **muchtvs** a great thanks as well. I just might take you up on your offer.


	7. Helping Hands

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Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the O.C. I am making no money. I have been inspired by this show and its characters, and my imagination has wandered. I am just sharing my musings with others. Please do not sue. I have nothing to give.

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Author's Note: Hi. Sorry. I've been really, _really_ blocked on this. I wanted to get the hospital procedures right, and my mom--who is a Registered Nurse--couldn't help me, this time. The ER is not her area of expertise. She's an OB nurse, taking care of the newborn babies. I had to call around to my local hospitals to get the procedures. They helped me out, quite graciously, but they also told me that these procedures vary by hospital and region. So, if something doesn't ring true for you, that would be the reason why! :)

Anyway, I'm halfway through with the next chapter, so it shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait this time.

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Back in the Hole

Chapter 7

Helping Hands

This time, when the doctor placed the antiseptic sponge to Ryan's chin, Ryan wasn't tied down. He knew that, if he really, really needed to, he would be able to grab the sponge and pull it away from his chin. Just knowing that he had that power made it a little easier to take. Suddenly, it was easier to withstand the flamethrower attacking his face, because he could stop it if he had to. This power gave him a little bit of the strength necessary to withstand the pain. Logically, Ryan knew that the procedure had to be finished, and that knowledge helped, too.

The best part, though, was knowing that he wasn't alone. The Cohens were here. They hadn't abandoned him, after all. They'd called the cops because they were scared for him, and they'd wanted to protect him, and not because they were sick of the trouble that he caused. They had rushed to the hospital, gotten a ticket, and almost gotten arrested, all because they wanted to be there for Ryan, to help him.

Kirsten had called him her son. Her son. That meant more to him right now, than anything else. Sandy had been the one to bring him home, so Ryan knew that Sandy liked him. Seth had been desperate for a friend, so Ryan knew how Seth felt. But Kirsten had been hard. She'd relegated him to the boat house when he'd first arrived, because he was a stranger, a criminal, a violent kid from Chino, and he might hurt her or her family. Kirsten was the one that he felt the most uncomfortable around, and she now felt that he was her son.

Amazing.

He suddenly felt foolish for having thought that they'd abandon him. They were good people, and they'd taken him in when they didn't have to, and they'd spent so much time and energy on him, and he'd doubted them.

And Kirsten saw him as her son.

Unbelievable.

His own mom _knew _that he was her son, and she didn't care. How many times had he been hurt, only to have her ignore him? She'd told him it was his fault, told him not to bother her, and even laughed at him. This was his mom.

But Kirsten was here. She fought for him, cried for him, and helped him.

And she called him her son.

This was better.

Much better.

Now, when the acid burned into his chin, he had Kirsten and Sandy to help him. They were each holding one of his hands, and they both murmured soothing phrases as he writhed and moaned in pain. They squeezed his hands, holding tightly, but not restraining him, and they helped him to withstand the doctor's treatment. They weren't letting go.

And Ryan held their hands. He grabbed hold and squeezed their hands, feeling that these hands were going to help him. These hands weren't holding him down. They were making sure that he knew that he wasn't alone.

He could stand it, because he had their hands to help him.

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Sandy was working really hard to keep himself from crying. Ryan was obviously in so much pain, and Sandy would have given anything to take this pain for him, but it was impossible.

__

It's the parents' curse. We accept the responsibility to keep our kids from pain and suffering, but we can't, no matter how hard we try. Sometimes, they're gonna suffer, and we can't stop it. The worst part is having to be there for it, and watch it happen. Of course, I could be a coward, and leave the room. That way, I wouldn't have to watch him suffer. But what kind of parent would I be then? When we can't keep the pain from our kids, we still have a job to do. We have to provide comfort, and we also have to teach them how to handle it and move one. Well, I'm trying to provide the comfort. I'll see how well that goes before I try to help him handle it and move on.

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Kirsten surprised herself. She'd broken down and cried a little, earlier, when she'd first seen Ryan suffering so badly, strapped to a bed and obviously terrified, but she didn't feel like crying right now.

Right now, all she felt was determination and anger. Determination to get Ryan through this. Anger at the doctor and the hospital for strapping her son down to the bed. Determination to ease Ryan's pain. Anger at the person who'd hurt him. Determination to see that this person was caught and punished. Anger at the system that would probably let the person go. Determination to make Ryan see that he deserved better. Anger at Ryan's mother and father, and even at his brother, Trey, for making Ryan believe that he could so easily be abandoned. Determination to make Ryan see that he had a new family now.

She would help her son.

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Dr. Jeffries hated what he was doing, but he did know that it was necessary. The change in this boy, since his family had arrived, was amazing. While no longer strapped down, Ryan was actually struggling less than he had been previously, even though the pain was just as--if not more--intense than before. It was amazing what love and support could do.

Never underestimate the power of family.

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Finally, Dr. Jeffries pulled the sponge away from Ryan's face for the last time, sighing in relief. "Well, Ryan, that's it with the antiseptic. That part's finished."

Ryan took a shaky breath, not releasing Sandy's and Kirsten's hands, and he nodded slightly He still hadn't opened his eyes, and Jeffries thought he saw some moisture leaking from one corner.

Mr. and Mrs. Cohen looked exhausted. While the cleaning had only taken a few minutes, it had obviously sapped them of their energy. Thankfully, they still seemed to have quite a lot of strength left. They were going to need it. This wasn't over yet.

"Okay, folks, here's what's next. We're going to have to stitch up the chin now. I--"

Before he could finish, Kirsten cut him off. "Look, Doctor, I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like--"

"Already taken care of," Dr. Jeffries interrupted with a smile.

"What?" Kirsten asked, confused.

Once you said that you were Caleb Nichols' daughter, I knew that any old ER doc wouldn't be good enough to stitch up your son's chin. When I stepped out, I called for our best plastic surgeon. Dr. Kostanza will be arriving any moment, and he'll stitch up the gash."

"Oh," Kirsten replied, a little ashamed at the blatant name-dropping that she'd resorted to, but not regretting it. She'd do whatever she had to in order to protect her family.

She thought of an interview she'd once heard with the old actor, Carroll O'Connor. Someone had criticized him for giving his son a job on his TV show, "In the Heat of the Night," claiming nepotism. His response was something along the lines of, "Hell, yes, I believe in nepotism. What the Hell good is money, fame and power if I can't use it to help the ones I love?" She'd been amused at his refreshing honesty, and also touched at his obvious devotion to family. That's when she'd realized that he had a point, and that it was right to use her position to help her family.

"I'm sorry," she told Dr. Jeffries. "I'm sure that you're an excellent doctor, and I thank you for taking care of my son, but--"  
  
"No need, no need," Dr. Jeffries broke in with a laugh. I can see how important family is to you, and I admire that. I freely concede that Dr. Kostanza is a much better plastic surgeon than I am, and I'd want the best to work on my son, as well."  
  
"Thank you," Kirsten repeated, smiling at the man. She was very grateful to him, both for his help, and for his understanding. She was drawn back to Ryan when he tightened his grip on her hand and whispered her name.

"What, Sweetie?" she asked him, looking down into wide, fearful eyes.

"Surgeon?"

"Oh, no, don't worry. There's not going to be any surgery, just stitches, right Dr. Jeffries?"

"Absolutely, Ryan," Dr. Jeffries agreed. "We just want the people who know the most about facial nerves. The work that he can do will minimize scarring."  
  
At the boy's shocked glance, Jeffries quickly amended his statement. "Scarring is unlikely, Ryan, once we've got Kostanza in here. And besides, even if there is a scar, it will be slight, and Kostanza can take care of that, as well. Lasers are truly amazing.. If we can remove a tattoo, we can surely take care of a chin scar."

Just then, the door opened, and two doctors rushed in, clearly in the middle of some argument.

One was tall and thin, and he seemed angry. His voice was louder than the other doctor's voice, and he was yelling as they entered. "And _I'm_ telling _you_ that this boy was _my_ patient first, and that _you_ will wait."  
  
The other doctor, not quite as tall, nor as thin, seemed almost amused, allowing the first doctor to lead the way into the room. His voice seemed calmer and less angry, but he was also clearly dedicated to his side of the argument. "That's all well and good, Dan, but I'm the one with the money-making job here, and I believe that I'll get my way before long. Now, would you like to continue this argument in front of this fine family, or shall we just leave it at this, and let you walk out with your tail between your legs?"  
  
As the first doctor began to splutter in rage, the second man stepped forward to Ryan and the Cohens, and he extended his hand to Ryan. "Hello, I'm Dr. Kostanza, and I can see that you're in need of my services," he introduced himself with a grin.

Ryan released Sandy's hand from his own right one, and nervously shook the doctor's. As Dr. Kostanza spoke quickly with Sandy and Kirsten, Ryan watched as Dr. Jeffries took the other doctor by the arm and led him out of the cubicle, still sputtering in anger as they went.

Ryan had a pretty good idea of who that other doctor had been, and he was glad to put off the psych consult for now. He was still shaken up, after the antiseptic, and he needed to calm down a little, before he could answer the dangerous questions to come.

"Well," Dr. Kostanza said, "I'm going to need to take a look at that chin of yours, Ryan."  
  
Kirsten squeezed his left hand in her right, and got up off of the bed, in order to let the doctor examine Ryan. As she did so, she had to release his hand from hers, and Ryan let it go with a little trepidation.

Ryan tensed up again, readying himself for the other man's touch on his face. But when he felt the doctor's hands on his chin, he again realized how much easier it was to take. Now that he wasn't tied down, he could handle almost anything. He was not powerless.

Of course, it helped that Dr. Kostanza's exam didn't really hurt all that much. He had to touch the surrounding areas a little bit, and he stretched the skin slightly, but it could have been much worse.

"Okay," Dr. Kostanza said, "This won't be a problem. It's really pretty straightforward. I'll simply stitch up the chin, and then we'll bandage it. We'll keep an eye on it for a few weeks, and then we'll remove the stitches. You'll have to stay out of the sun, completely, for six weeks, to minimize any potential scarring, and then we'll see what it looks like. If there's any need for further treatment, we'll take care of it then. But don't worry; your face will be back to normal in no time." The doctor grinned kindly at Ryan, and Ryan was actually able to manage a small grin in return.

"I'll be back in just a moment, and then we'll get started," Dr. Kostanza said, as he left the room.

Kirsten sat back down on the bed, next to Ryan, and took his hand in hers again. "So," she said, "this is almost over. We'll get your face stitched up, and then we'll take you home."  
  
At the mention of home, Ryan suddenly remembered what had gotten him here in the first place. In the pain and terror of having the gash on his chin cleaned, Ryan had again forgotten the trauma that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

A.J.

A.J. would not let Ryan get away with this. Being in the hospital was no excuse. He still had to deal with A.J. Plus, he still had the psych evaluation to get through, as well.

Sensing Ryan's change of mood, Kirsten leaned in closer. "Ryan?"

"I'm fine, Kirsten," he said, his tone flat. Turning to Sandy, he asked, "Can you help me out with the psych eval? I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible."

"Psych eval?" Kirsten questioned, confused.

Understanding what must have happened earlier, Sandy was hit with a lead weight of guilt. Ryan must have freaked out when the paramedics had arrived to take him to the hospital. Seth had been right. It was a bad idea. They should've just gone to the Crab Shack to pick him up themselves, and they could've spared Ryan some pain.

There'd be no living with Seth after this. He could be an unrelenting gloater when he was right.

"Yeah, kiddo, I'll see what I can do," he responded, patting Ryan on the shoulder.

"Excuse me!" Kirsten called in frustration, as her husband headed out of the door. "I'd like to know what's going on here!"

"Kirsten, I kinda freaked out a little when the cops showed up," Ryan explained softly, his eyes not meeting hers. "I don't remember much, but I know that I fought them, and they str-strapped me d-down on the stretcher--"

"Shh," Kirsten interrupted, gently smoothing Ryan's forehead. "It's okay, Sweetie, I understand. I'm so sorry that you were scared. We'll take care of everything now. So, you still have to be questioned by a psychiatrist?"  
  
Calmed some, Ryan took a deep breath, and slowly met Kirsten's eyes. "Yeah. I just want to get it over with. I know that Sandy can't make them drop it, but it'll help to have you guys here when he questions me."  
  
Kirsten couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her son had probably experienced a panic attack, and in response they strapped him down. In addition to that indignity, they were now hinting that he was crazy? This was just nuts.

Sandy returned, bringing the tall, angry man with him, and Kirsten felt Ryan stiffen next to her, his head lowering, his eyes remaining on the doctor.

"I'm Dr. Townsend, and I'm the psychology resident here in the hospital. I understand that your son was combative when he was picked up by the police and the paramedics, and an evaluation is standard hospital procedure." Not waiting for a response from anyone, he turned to Sandy and said, "As I've already told you, this conversation is to be between the minor and myself. You and your wife will have to leave."  
  
Smiling his best lawyerly smile, Sandy took Kirsten's free hand in his and replied, "That's fine, but he's my son, and we'll be staying if he wants us to." He turned to look reassuringly at Ryan, asking, "So, kiddo, what'll it be? Are we in or out?"  
  
Seeing Dr. Townsend's angry glare, Ryan knew that he'd be better off not angering the doctor further. "I'll be okay, guys, thanks."

"Okay, Ryan, but we'll be right outside if you need us," said Sandy, patting Ryan gently on the foot.

Kirsten leaned in to kiss him on the forehead, saying "Sweetie, everything'll be okay. You'll see."

He smiled up at her, but she noticed that the smile didn't reach his eyes. She realized that it hardly ever did. The only times that he'd really seemed happy were when he was laughing with Seth. _Well, at least we've done one thing right. These boys were truly meant to be brothers._

Sandy and Kirsten left the room.

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Wizard1: Thank you so much for your reviews! You made me laugh and smile.

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aoife: Wow. I don't know what to say. Your review meant so much to me. You actually made me cry. I don't know that I deserve such praise, but I really appreciate it. I'm a big fan of angst stories, and I read one by weumsel recently that really affected me. I couldn't figure out how to tell her what she made me feel, and you put it into perfect words for me. "I still have snakes in my stomach from reading that so I have to go and do something cheerful and get the disturbing images out of my head." It means a lot to me that I might have made someone else feel this, after reading my words. Thank you. You truly made me month.

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benzbabidoll: You also made my month. Your praise is overwhelming.

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weumsel: You know how I feel about you. I couldn't have gotten through this without your support. You're fantastic. Thanks, Buddy! :)

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To literally everybody else, thank you so much, for each and every review. You are all really great people, and I thank you for reading my story. I'm really glad to have found fanfiction.


	8. Anger Management

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July 17, 2004 _

Hope I don't give anyone a heart attack with my rapid update! :)

This one's not so heavy on the angst, even though it is the psych eval. Hope I don't disappoint!

I have to apologize for the language in this one. I don't swear in my own life, but apparently the characters in my head do. Sigh. I tried to make them watch their language, but "shoot, darn, and fudge" just don't do justice to the situations.

Sorry if I offend anyone.

Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing related in any way to Fox's show, "The O.C." I don't even own a poster or a picture. Nothing. I'm certainly not making any money off of this fiction. I apologize for any copyright infringement. Please don't sue. I have nothing to give.

Back in the Hole

Chapter 8

Anger Management

Ryan really wasn't ready for this, but he did want to just get it over with. He knew that he would have to be careful when answering Dr. Townsend's questions, and that every aspect of his body language would be evaluated as well. He made a conscious effort to relax, and he forced himself to make eye contact with the doctor.

"So," the doctor began, "how are you doing, Ryan?"

Ryan wanted to answer with his customary, "Fine," but he knew that that wouldn't get him very far. He sighed, and remembered that honesty--to a degree--was the best choice here.

"Actually, I'm in a lot of pain. We just finished cleaning my chin, and it was a really painful process. Plus, I've got a lot of other injuries, and they're all hurting, too."

Already writing notes, the psych resident looked at Ryan over his glasses. "I hear that you were combative at the scene, and that the police had to restrain you. Care to tell me what was going on?"  
  
"Yeah. Um, I guess I was a little confused."   
  
"Confused? Couldn't you tell that the police were there to help you?"  
  
"See, I haven't been in Newport very long. I'm really from Chino. In Chino, cops don't usually help."

"Hmm," Dr. Townsend replied, waiting for Ryan to continue.

Sighing, Ryan continued to force himself to look at the doctor. "So, anyway, when the cops showed up, I was still a little shaken up from being mugged, and I started backing away. They pulled their guns, and I held up my hands. I think that I had a pain spasm, because I remember doubling over, and they must've thought I was reaching for a weapon or something, because the next thing I knew, they'd tackled me, and I was on the ground. I've got broken ribs, so that really hurt. I probably tried to fight them off, because I was still in a lot of pain, but I don't really remember anything else, until I woke up here in the hospital."  
  
Ryan was exhausted. He didn't usually talk this much at one time, and he didn't feel comfortable doing it, but a psych eval is best conducted in as straightforward manner as possible. Shrinks like to hear you talk, and they're satisfied when you fulfill their expectations.

"Ryan, why do you think that you continued to fight the police officers, if you cannot remember doing it?"  
  
"I guess because that's what I do. I fight." _Boy, do I fight. I promised Sandy and Kirsten that I wouldn't anymore, because it'll endanger my probation, but I just may have to fight again, before this A.J. mess is over with. How am I going to get out of this?_

"Ryan?"

Dr. Townsend's tone told Ryan that he'd missed something. He realized that he hadn't been listening.

Damn it. That's not the way to convince a shrink that you're rational. Pay attention!

"I'm sorry. What was that?"  
  
"Are you all right?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, sorry. My ribs were just hurting, that's all. What did I miss?"  
  
Not looking too convinced, Dr. Townsend repeated, "I asked you if you remembered your attack."   
  
Being careful of his ribs, Ryan took as deep a breath as he could, and he stepped into the mine field that A.J. had created for them.

"Yeah, I do. I was walking out of work, at the Crab Shack, and some guy came up behind me, slammed me into the wall a few times, punched me in the kidney, took my tips, and then kicked and punched me a few more times. When I opened my eyes, he was gone."

There. Facts, details, all present. Just left out a few reasons and the conversation. Not too hard. Should work. I hope.

"Mm-hmm. Did the man say anything?" asked the psychiatrist.

"I think he said something about keeping quiet, and he also said something about taking my money."

See? It can be done.

"Why didn't you fight back against your mugger, Ryan?"

Whoops. Didn't see that coming. Kinda contradicted myself there. Damn it.

"I promised the Cohens I wouldn't fight anymore. I'm a fighter, but I'm trying not to be."  
  
_Whew. Dodged that one._

"Okay. Makes sense. What are you afraid of, Ryan?"  
  
Ryan jumped a little at that question. He hadn't been expecting the guy to ask him that. He should've been, but he hadn't.

"Um, I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"You're obviously afraid of something. You're shaking, and you're incredibly tense. You freaked out when the cops showed up, and the paramedics said that you blacked out in the ambulance, even though there was no physical reason for it. The nurses here said that you seemed terrified when you woke up, and that you fought the restraints. What are you afraid of?"  
  
_Take another breath. Ow. Not so big next time. This guy's better than the last one was. Be careful._

"I--I was confused. I was in a lot of pain, I'd just been attacked, and I didn't fight back. That kinda messed me up a little. I'm not used to just taking it."  
  
" 'Just taking it,' Ryan? What do you mean by that? How often do you get beaten up?" Dr. Townsend asked.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. How'd I let that slip out? Damn it! I said to be careful, not stupid!

"Fights, man, I'm talking about fights. I got in a lot of fights in Chino. It's a rough neighborhood, and you can't grow up without getting in fights. Your first real one's at ten, and they don't slow down. It's just part of the streets and the playgrounds. If you don't fight back, you get beat. That's all I meant."

"Ryan," Dr. Townsend said smugly. "You're a liar."

Ryan, whose eyes had wandered around the room, snapped back to look at Dr. Townsend.

"Excuse me?" he asked, shocked.

"You're a liar. There's something more behind all of this, you know it, I know it, the cops and paramedics know it, and the ER staff knows it. I don't know if your foster parents know it, but they should. You're a liar," he finished angrily.

Ryan, although trying not to, was becoming a little angry. _All right, so I _am_ a liar, but this guy's an ass!_

"What the Hell are you talking about?" Ryan replied, glaring at the psychology resident.

Smugly, Dr. Townsend leaned in a little closer, noticing that Ryan couldn't help but shift away a bit. He noted that that in his little file, as well. "You don't know what you said, do you? When you were fighting the cops and the paramedics?"

Aw, fuck! How much did I say? Shit. How do I handle this now?

"No," Ryan replied quietly. "I guess I didn't know that I was saying anything. What did I say?"

Checking his notes, Dr. Townsend replied, "I believe the paramedics said that your exact words were, 'Please don't, not again. I'll do whatever you want. I can take anything as long as you don't tie me down.' Does any of that ring a bell?"

Not as having said it recently, but yeah, it sounds like me. Shit. What the Hell is wrong with me? You'd think I wanted_ someone to know all of my crap. I have no idea what to say. Say something. Say _something!_ Jeez, I'm totally floundering here. I've got nothing. Pain. Fake some pain._

Groaning, Ryan closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Heh. Didn't have to fake it much.

Dr. Townsend sat back, looking at the little faker in the bed. He had to admit that Ryan was good. He'd obviously dealt with these kinds of questions before. While Dr. Townsend didn't doubt that Ryan was probably in pain, he also knew that the kid was using his pain as a stall tactic. Townsend had asked a question that Ryan didn't want to or didn't know how to answer, and now he was stalling.

"Ryan, that's not going to work with me. I'm not leaving until I get some answers."

Sighing, Ryan opened his eyes again, and turned to look at Townsend, still unsure of what to say.

At that moment, Sandy and Kirsten came to his rescue, yet again.

Without knocking, they both swept into the room, as sure of their rights as any parents could be. With a big lawyerly grin, Sandy called out, "So, how's our boy doing?" as he and Kirsten headed over to the bed.

Completely ignoring the shrink, Kirsten sat down on the bed next to Ryan, took his hand, and looked him deeply in the eyes, trying to see if she could read how her son was feeling. _Well, I may feel that he's my son, but I sure don't know how to read him that well yet. Seth's always been like an open book. He doesn't even need to talk, and I can tell everything that he's thinking. I'm nowhere near there with Ryan, yet, but I can tell one thing; he's glad we came in when we did. He's even smiling a little. Yes, I think that's relief. I'll have to remember that. This is his relieved look._

Filing that away in her memory, Kirsten looked up at the doctor and said, "Ryan needs to rest now. Dr. Kostanza is on his way in, to stitch up Ryan's chin."

"Now, wait just a moment," began Dr. Townsend, annoyed at the interruption. "We're not done here, and my say-so will determine when this boy receives any further treatment, and whether or not he--"

Sandy interrupted him, his fatherly anger breaking through his lawyerly calm. "Look! I am this boy's father, and--"

Angry himself, Dr. Townsend interrupted Sandy. "Actually, sir, no you are not this boy's father. You are simply a foster parent, and you--"

At Sandy's abrupt movement toward the doctor, Kirsten called out, "Sandy!"

Instantly responding to his wife's tone, he turned and looked at her and Ryan. Kirsten, while calm, was determined. Ryan had again tensed every muscle, and he looked about ready to bolt from the bed at the next harsh word. _Fantastic. Great job. Lose your temper and scare the kid. Way to go, father-of-the-year._

Seeing that her husband had calmed down, Kirsten squeezed Ryan's hand before letting go and standing up. She put on her corporate charm and began to schmooze the spluttering doctor towards the door.

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Once outside, the angry doctor turned around and said, "I just might call security and have him removed! He has no right to threaten me! I have a job to do, and this is the way I am treated?!"

Before he could rant any further, Kirsten spoke softly. "I'm sure you can understand that this has been a difficult day for us. As Ryan's _foster_ mother," (she couldn't resist that little dig), "would you please tell me what you have decided from your interview with my _son_?"

"It's not finished yet!"

"Yes, I understand that, but please, just tell me what you've discovered so far. I know that he had a panic attack, but were his reactions really all that different from those of a normal panic attack.?"

"Well, Mrs. Cohen, panic attacks aren't exactly 'normal.'"

Kirsten simply stared at this man for a moment. _Must resist. Urge to wrap hands around neck overwhelming. Resist. Hands must remain at my sides._

Forcing a smile, Kirsten spoke between clenched teeth. "I understand that. However, when compared to other panic attacks, were Ryan's reactions within the scope of normalcy?"

Each word was clear and distinct, and the doctor, for the first time, sensed the anger that this woman was barely holding back. Suddenly a little nervous, he cleared his throat, shifted his feet, and stammered, "Well, I--I suppose, in terms of panic attacks, his reaction might be within the normal range, but there--"

Seizing this, Kirsten broke in. "Good. So we'll be able to take him home, as soon as the medical doctors give us the say-so, correct?" She couldn't resist using his term from earlier.

"I have yet to finish my interview!" Townsend yelled, frustrated beyond his better judgment. He knew who this woman was, or--more importantly--who her father was, and this was not the best way to climb up the promotion ladder.

"Fine," Kirsten said sweetly, with a wide grin spreading across her face. "Why don't I call my father, Caleb Nichol, and he'll arrange to have Dr. Scott, the head of your department, come down and finish your interview for you? I'm sure that he'd love to get to know Caleb's new grandson. Then you and Doug can have a little chat about your bedside manner. We won't be needing your services any longer. Thank you." With that, Kirsten turned and walked back into Ryan's little room, leaving a stunned, and suddenly worried, Doctor Townsend behind.

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When Kirsten led Dr. Townsend from the hospital room, Sandy and Ryan were left in an awkward silence.

Ryan knew that he'd reacted involuntarily to the raised voices and implied violence in Sandy's movement toward the doctor, and he was ashamed that Sandy'd seen his response. It revealed more about him than he actually wanted anyone to know. Unsure of what to say to bridge the silence, Ryan resorted to his normal state of being, which is one of a closed-mouthed patience.

Sandy knew that he'd frightened Ryan. It didn't take a genius to notice that Ryan was uncomfortable around anger. At home, whenever he and Kirsten argued, Ryan always grew very tense.

The first time that the two adult Cohens had argued in front of Ryan, the teen had unwittingly revealed a lot about himself.

Sandy couldn't even remember what he and Kirsten had been fighting about. It had been stupid; that much he _could_ remember. The boys had been sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee, reading the paper, and picking at breakfast before heading off to school. Kirsten and Sandy had begun arguing while in their room, and they continued it on their way downstairs. Neither really thought anything of it. Seth had heard them argue plenty of times, and they were never vicious with each other. They loved each other, and that always shined through.

They didn't think about Ryan. About the fact that Ryan didn't know that.

As they walked into the kitchen, their argument continued. Sandy noticed that Ryan and Seth were staring at the parents, but he didn't really think much of it. They were, after all, being a little loud. Kirsten headed to the cupboard, got a cup, and began to pour herself some coffee, making a snide remark in Sandy's direction as she did so. Sandy, at the refrigerator, had spun around to throw his own comment back in her direction, slamming the refrigerator door at the same time. As he spun, his eyes caught Ryan. Unable to stop his mouth from finishing whatever comment he was making to Kirsten, he focused on Ryan as he criticized his wife. However, Sandy was not actually thinking about Kirsten, anymore. Instead, he was watching Ryan.

Ryan had seemed to shrink. Every muscle appeared tensed, and Sandy thought that he saw a slight tremor course through the boy's body. Ryan's eyes never left Sandy's hands, although his head was bowed, peeking up through the shaggy blonde bangs.

Realizing that Ryan was scared, Sandy tried to catch Kirsten's eye. _Read my mind, Honey, come on,_ he thought intently at her. Still angry, though, she didn't notice. Instead, she slammed her coffee mug down on the counter, and responded angrily to his last juvenile comment. At the impact of her mug, Sandy saw Ryan flinch, and he seemed to shrink back further into his stool. _He's trying to be invisible_, he thought sadly.

Realizing that Kirsten wasn't going to catch on, Sandy decided to take the direct route. "Ryan," he said quietly.

At the sound of his name, Ryan tensed even further, removed his hands from the counter, and slowly raised his head to look at Sandy. _Oh, God_, thought Sandy. _Look at the fear. The boy's terrified._ Softly, Sandy began, "Ryan, everything's okay. We're not really mad at each other. We're just being stupid."   
  
Ryan's expression never changed, but he did stand up, taking one small step backwards, towards the door, towards escape.

Kirsten had been about to argue that, yes, they were too really mad at each other, when she saw the look on Ryan's face. Mouth hanging open, she turned back to Sandy, whose message was clear. _He's terrified. We've gotta reassure him._

Although, at this point, Kirsten still saw Ryan as a guest in their pool house, and not as a son, she was still a mom. She couldn't stand knowing that a boy had become afraid, in her house, because of her and her husband. That was unacceptable.

She moved towards Sandy, who put his arm around her shoulders. The two of them smiled at Ryan, who had begun sidling towards the door, and Kirsten said, "Really, Ryan, we were just being childish. Everything's fine."

At Kirsten's words, he'd frozen again, head still down, eyes still locked on the two adults. "I know," he mumbled. "Gotta get to school."

With that, Ryan hurried out of the door.

Kirsten and Sandy had looked at each other, neither needing to speak in order to realize the other's thoughts.

Simultaneously, they both leaned in for a kiss, then settled into a comforting hug. Again, at the same time, each said, "Sorry," then just reveled in the other's comfort.

Sandy had finally broken the silence. "Well, I guess we won't be arguing in front of Ryan anymore, will we?"

Smiling slightly, Kirsten replied, "He's gonna be great for this house. We'll both be reminded to keep our arguments to the important stuff."

And they had. The arguments, never frequent before Ryan, had certainly become calmer and more mature. It never seemed to matter to Ryan, though. Although slightly more relaxed, Ryan still physically recoiled in the presence of anger, as he had during the argument between Dr. Townsend and Sandy. Sandy wondered if they'd ever be able to help Ryan. To make him see that he didn't have to be constantly vigilant, preparing to defend against an attack.

Sighing, Sandy sat down on the foot of Ryan's hospital bed, and he smiled at the boy. "Got a little angry, there, didn't I, Kiddo?"

Lips still glued together, Ryan simply nodded. But at least he was making eye contact, and his head wasn't even bowed. Sandy was learning to read Ryan's body language. This look meant that, while still tense, Ryan wasn't necessarily afraid of Sandy. If his head was still bowed, it would mean that he _was_ afraid of Sandy. This was his way of remaining invisible, inconspicuous. Making the necessary eye contact, while providing the illusion of an obediently bowed head. Ready to break eye contact without having to move.

There's still so much to learn about you, Kiddo. And so much for you to learn about us. Like the fact that you're safe. You don't have to watch your eye contact, you don't have to remain invisible, and you don't have to tense up in the face of anger. You're safe with us.

Realizing that Ryan wouldn't be comprehending all of this right now, Sandy tried to make this moment better. "I sure don't like that guy. Implying you're not my son. What does he know?" he asked with a grin.

He was rewarded with a grin of Ryan's, along with an obvious relaxation of the boy's body, his fists slowly letting go. "Yeah. Me neither."

"How'd the inquisition go?"

"Fine," he replied, knowing that he'd get the usual groan and rolled eyes in response.

Sandy relaxed a little, himself, leaning back on the footboard of the bed, as he settled in to talk to Ryan. "What'd he say? Anything you wanna tell me?"

"Nah," Ryan answered. He knew that he _could_ tell Sandy what had transpired, but he also knew that Sandy already knew, anyway. If Ryan had answered any of the doctor's questions with interesting comments, then the Cohens would already know. There would be no doctor/patient confidentiality in Ryan's particular situation. As a ward of the state, the foster parents would be notified of any and every pertinent piece of information about this boy and his behavior.

Instead of providing Sandy with any details, he asked the question that definitely needed answered. "How do you think it's gonna go?"

"You mean will you be put on a hold? I don't think so. You really seem fine. You weren't combative here, in the hospital; just terrified. I think that Kirsten's name-dropping will have you sprung from here in no time."

Dropping his head, Ryan felt familiar guilt return. "She doesn't have to go to any trouble for me."  
  
Leaning forward to pat Ryan's knee, Sandy unsuccessfully sought out eye contact. "Hey. Kid. It's no trouble. You're family, remember? You heard her when she came in here. She called you her 'son.' She doesn't just do that for anyone, you know?" he finished with a grin.

Ryan looked up at Sandy, and grinned again, himself. "Yeah," he almost whispered, then looked away, embarrassed.

Just then, to save the guys from any further embarrassing mushy conversations, Kirsten came smilingly through the door.

"No more psych eval," she declared triumphantly. "I think I'm getting pretty good at using my name to get my way. You'd better watch out. I just may become an ego-bloated, self-centered rich bitch, any minute now!"

Sandy and Ryan both looked at Kirsten with pride, as she sat beside Ryan on the bed, and took his hand.

"So," Sandy began, "how'd it go with the good Dr. Townsend?"

"Remember Doug Scott, Dad's golfing buddy? He came to the house for dinner last month?" Kirsten asked her husband, the pride glinting in her eyes.

"Um, yeah, I think so," replied Sandy. "Wasn't he the one with the really bad comb-over?"  
  
"Yeah," laughed Kirsten. "Well, he's the head of Townsend's department, and he really likes me, so I used his name to get Townsend to back off." Grinning at Ryan, she squeezed his hand.

Shyly, Ryan met her eyes. "Thanks, Kirsten. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, kid. I was actually glad to do it! Although, Doug may need to come and talk to you before we go home, but if he does, it won't be a problem. It'll just be to legally cover their rears."

"Cool," Ryan muttered. He wasn't really paying attention, anymore, When Kirsten had mentioned home, his mind again drifted to the plan that A.J. had for him. _What in the Hell am I supposed to do now?_

Just then, Dr. Kostanza entered the room, bringing with him two nurses and a tray full of painful-looking items.

"Okay, Ryan, we're going to get this stitched up, and then you can go on home," Dr. Kostanza said kindly.

Sighing, Ryan tightened his grip on Kirsten's hand, not taking his eyes from the medical tools that were being set up all around him.

When Sandy and Kirsten saw Ryan tense up, they each snapped back into protective parent mode, and Sandy asked, "We can stay, right Dr. Kostanza?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

_The reviews that I've gotten have been incredible. Thank you, to everyone, for being so kind._

_Thanks to whoever nominated my story for the Citrus Awards. big, huge, grin Neat to know that people think my writing is worth recognizing. Especially since it really is the first that I've ever shown anyone (except school assignments, of course)._

_The best part, though, is that someone nominated me for Best Feedbacker! That's really special. I'm glad that my comments meant something to someone._


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